The weight of his words hung in the quiet room.

I knew what that meant in Dante’s world.

I excused myself back to my room, needing to escape the suffocating pressure of his presence.

As I walked down the long, carpeted hallway of the east wing, my phone vibrated in my pocket.

It was a burner phone I had kept hidden in my bag, a number only a few people had.

I pulled it out, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The screen flashed with an unknown number.

I slipped into my bedroom, locking the door behind me.

My hand shook as I pressed the screen to accept the call.

I pressed the phone to my ear, waiting.

“Alessia,” a desperate, familiar voice whispered.

It was Marcus.

“How did you get this number?” I demanded, keeping my voice down.

“It doesn’t matter,” he stammered, his voice ragged. “You have to help me, Alessia. They are going to kill me.”

“You did this to yourself,” I said, tears of anger stinging my eyes. “You left me to face them.”