Shaw leads me deeper into the prison, past corridors I’ve walked countless times. The further we go, the more oppressive the atmosphere becomes. The lights overhead do nothing to erase the shadows in every corner.
“This area’s been cleared out,” Shaw says over his shoulder, his voice echoing in the empty space. “Only a skeleton crew assigned here. Too dangerous to keep him anywhere else.”
I nod silently. The usual low hum of voices, the clang of cell doors, and the muted shuffle of inmates are missing. The silence is unnerving, punctuated only by the buzz of electricity and the faint sound of our footsteps.
We stop at a heavy steel door marked with bold yellow letters:
SECURED ISOLATION UNIT. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
Shaw punches in a code, and the lock releases with a heavy click. “Stay behind me,” he says firmly, stepping through first.
The air here is colder. My eyes are immediately drawn to the thick yellow line painted on the floor, running parallel to the rows of reinforced bars. Shaw points to it with his flashlight.
“That’s the safe zone,” he says.
I stop just short of the line, my toes an inch away.
“Don’t get too close to the bars,” he continues, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Ghost is smart. And fast. If he gets his hands on you…” Shaw trails off, his meaning clear.
I force myself to nod again, even as my pulse races.
The guard leads me down the row, past empty cells that remind me of hollowed-out tombs. The walls here are thicker, the bars reinforced and the floors spotless. This place has been stripped of humanity, designed solely for containment.
Shaw stops in front of a cell, his hand resting on the baton at his hip as he glances at me. His expression is unreadable, but his posture radiates caution. “Dr. Andrews, I’ll be right down the hall. If you yell, I’ll hear you.”
I nod, my throat dry. “Understood.”
“Don’t cross the line,” Shaw reminds me, his voice low but firm.
I don’t respond. My attention is locked on the man in the cell, his presence filling the space like a tangible force. The echo of Shaw’s footsteps fades into the background, leaving me alone with Ghost.
CHAPTER 46
GENEVA
Ghost is sitting on the edge of the small cot, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped loosely together. He doesn’t look up, his focus fixed on a point on the floor.
“Ghost,” I say softly, my voice trembling.
He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t move.
“Ghost,” I try again, louder this time.
Still nothing. His posture doesn’t change, but the tension lining his shoulders is unmistakable. As is the muscle flickering along his jaw every so often.
“I know you’re angry,” I say, taking a small step closer, careful to stay behind the yellow line on the floor. “And you should be.”
His fingers twitch, but it’s enough to make my stomach tighten. He heard me. He’s listening.
I take another tentative step closer, my heart hammering in my chest. “I’m sorry.”
He finally looks up, his eyes locking onto mine. There’s no smirk, no spark of amusement. Just an empty void. This isn’t the Ghost who risked his life to protect me. This man is a stranger.
“Why are you here, Dr. Andrews?”
His voice is low, rough, and colder than I’ve ever heard it. The sound of it makes me wince.
“Because I wanted to talk to you.”
He waves a hand in dismissal. “Then talk, ’cause I don’t have a fucking thing to say to you.”
I rear back as though he’s slapped me; the pain of his words lingers, harsh and distressing. My nails dig into the palms of my hands as I search for the right thing to say, something that will cut through the barriers he’s built between us—which is ironic because until today, the only thing I’ve done is create walls between us.
“Ghost, I know I hurt you. And I don’t know how else to express my regret, other than saying how sorry I am.”
“You shouldn’t have come.”
“I know.” I take another step forward, clutching the hem of my shirt. It’s a telltale sign of my nervousness, but I can’t make myself stop. No more than I can stop my attraction to Ghost. “But you needed to hear my apology.”
My heart stutters in my chest when he slowly gets to his feet and walks up to the bars. His face is a mask, his expression unreadable, but his eyes burn with something volatile. “Get the fuck out.”
I stand there, frozen, unable to move, the weight of his words pinning me in place.
“I said, get the fuck out.”
The command guts me. I turn away, blinking back the tears threatening to spill, but something makes me stop. The question gnawing at the edge of my mind, the one that still needs an answer.
Why.… It’s always why.
“Why are you here?” I ask, slowly turning back to face him.
For a moment, I think he won’t answer, that he’ll keep his silence just to punish me.
“You think you’re so fucking smart, don’t you, Doc? Always trying to analyze everything. If you haven’t figured me out by now, you never will.”
I take a step closer, standing on the yellow line. “I think you want me to. I think you’re waiting for me to figure it out… And you didn’t answer my question. Why, Ghost?”
His smirk fades, his jaw clenching, elongating the scar on his face. He leans forward, his fingers curling around the bars like they’re the only thing keeping him from reaching for me. “Stop wasting my time.”
“You knew I’d come,” I whisper, more to myself than him. “Why else would you still be here?”
His expression hardens, his grip on the bars tightening until his knuckles blanch. “I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“You can leave whenever you want. Yet you’re here. You stayed. You were waiting for me. Why?” I begin pacing as the pieces of the puzzle fall into place. The process is slow and mentally taxing, but it’s fitting together nonetheless. “You’ve been provoking me since the moment I walked in here. Pushing me, waiting to see if I’d stay.”
“I don’t give a shit.”
He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as though the very idea is ridiculous. But he hasn’t denied it. At least, not in a way that I believe.
“But you do,” I whisper. “Which means this is a test.”
I stop pacing and turn to face him. Ghost’s smirk is gone, replaced by a hard, unyielding expression that does nothing to hide the strain radiating from him. His hands tremble around the bars, and for a moment, I imagine him snapping them in half. Or wrapping them around my neck.
“A test?” he repeats, his voice low and mocking. “You’re so fucking full of yourself, Geneva. Not everything is about you.”
“Actually, it is. All of this is for me. Because of me.”
His callous attitude hides the manipulation that began before I arrived. Ghost knew I’d come after he broke me last night. He knew I’d be vulnerable.
Anger surges inside me, burning away all caution and all composure. I march up to the bars and jab my finger in his chest.
“You don’t get to test me,” I say, my voice trembling with rage. “You don’t get to play with my fucking emotions.”
Ghost doesn’t flinch at my outburst. He doesn’t even blink. His eyes, bright and unrelenting, never leave mine. Instead of backing off, he gets closer, his body a wall of tension, his voice a low, dangerous drawl.