Alex's pov-
The walls are thinner today.
I can hear the creak of boots on concrete. The heavy drag of something metallic. The way the rats scurry faster than usual in the corners when he's coming.
Nolan.
He whistles now, when he's walking in. That same irritating, too-cheerful tune he used to hum back in college when we were just kids. Back when I thought he was harmless.
He wasn't.
He never was.
I can barely lift my head. My left shoulder is dislocated—again—and dried blood flakes from the corner of my mouth every time I breathe. He doesn't hit my face much anymore. He says it ruins "the memory."
"You look just like him, you know," he said last week, pressing a hand to my cheek with the mockery of a friend and the reverence of a lunatic. "Adrien. The mouth. The eyes. But colder. Colder than you ever were."
I hear the lock turn now. The door opens with a rusty screech.
And then he's there.
Nolan.
Smiling like I'm his guest.
"Well, well, Langford," he says, stepping into the light. "Guess what happened today?"
I don't answer. Can't. My mouth's too dry. My limbs too heavy.
But he tells me anyway.
"Adrien," he whispers, crouching beside me. "Your boy's growing a spine. Finally said something to me today. Told me not to touch her."
My throat closes.
"She was wearing blue. You remember that silk blouse she loves? She looked… shaken. Like she used to look when you kissed her neck too suddenly. God, you have no idea how long I've watched you two play house in that glass tomb."
His hand tightens around the collar of my torn shirt, dragging me up enough for me to meet his eyes.
"And then that little brat dares to step between us?"
His tone breaks—sharp, venomous.
He drops me. My body hits the cement like dead weight.
"I should've snapped his neck the moment he was born," he hisses. "You have no idea how much I hated him. The way she clings to him. Like a goddamn porcelain doll. You think he deserves that? Her kisses? Her voice? He scowls at her, slams doors, and she still follows him like a dog in love."
His boot collides with my ribs.
The pain screams through me.
"I loved her," he growls. "Before you even looked at her. I sat beside her in every goddamn class. I was the one who carried her books, listened to her dreams, wiped her tears before you even learned her name."
Another kick. Another crack.
"You stole her."
I cough, and it tastes like rust and ash. I want to scream. Not in pain, but in fury. Because she's out there. With him.
And I'm down here.
Useless.
"She still thinks of you, you know," Nolan mutters, breathless now, crouching again beside my crumpled form. "Calls your name in her sleep sometimes. Keeps your watch in the drawer next to her bed. I almost told her it was mine once. She wouldn't know. She wants to forget."
His fingers grip my chin, force my head up.
"But I won't let her," he whispers. "I'll be there when the glass breaks, and she realizes you were never coming home."
He stands.
Walks to the door.
Pauses.
"I should thank Adrien, though," he adds softly. "Gave me just the excuse I needed to pay you a visit."
Then he leaves.
And the light flickers out again.