"Yes?" I repeated, needing to hear her answer clearly, not as a whisper but as a conscious choice. My hand stilled with the brush hovering above her hair.

  Joy opened her eyes and turned her head slightly, just enough to meet my gaze over her shoulder. Something had shifted in her expression—the raw fear giving way to a quiet certainty.

  "Yes." Her voice firmer this time. "I want this. I need it."

  I nodded once, accepting her words. The weight of responsibility settled on my shoulders—not unwelcome, but significant. This wasn't about ownership anymore. This was about trust.

  My hand resumed brushing her hair. Her eyes closed again, shoulders softening with each stroke. The silver strands flowed like water through the bristles, catching the lamplight. Each pass of the brush revealed another layer of tension melting from her body.

  "Good." I kept my voice low and steady. The word seemed to sink into her, and she exhaled slowly. "That's right. Just breathe."

  She needed this structure, this gentle control. Someone else making decisions, someone she trusted enough to surrender to. It wasn't about breaking her will but sheltering it while it healed.

  The sound of her scream had torn through the quiet house as I reviewed shipping manifests in my office. Naerithi words—harsh and desperate—had echoed down the hallway. I knew her voice instantly.

  I'd dropped my pen mid-signature and ran. My heart hammered against my ribs as possibilities flashed through my mind. Had Marcelo returned?

  When I'd reached the hallway outside her room, I found Ross and Lilach already helping Selwyn toward the guest room. Joy stood in the doorway, her clothes torn, face streaked with tears. Blood smeared her hands and spattered her skin. Lilach had draped her cape around Joy's shoulders, the dark fabric stark against her pale skin.

  Now, in my private rooms, I pushed away the image of my brother's face. He would heal. I'd seen him recover from worse. My concern now was Joy's mind, the fragile balance she'd been struggling to maintain since her rescue.

  The brush snagged on a tangle. Joy flinched. I gentled my touch, working through the knot with careful fingers.

  "I'm sorry," she whispered.

  "For what?"

  Her shoulders hunched slightly. "For hurting Selwyn. For not being... better."

  I continued brushing, using the rhythm to steady us both. "You've been through more than anyone should endure. The mind protects itself however it can."

  She didn't respond, but tension returned to her shoulders. Setting aside the brush, I rested my hands there, feeling heat through the torn fabric. My thumbs traced small circles against the tight muscles, seeking knots to dissolve.

  "Joy." I waited until she tilted her head slightly. "Look at me."

  She turned, still kneeling between my legs, eyes meeting mine reluctantly. Fear lingered there, uncertainty, and something I couldn't name. Something that hadn't been there before her captivity.

  "I'm not angry with you." Each word was deliberate. "Neither is Selwyn."

  "I could have killed him." Her voice cracked.

  I touched her cheek, guiding her face up when she tried to look away. "But you didn't. And knowing my brother, he's already making inappropriate jokes about it."

  A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "He called me 'sweetie' right after I stabbed him."

  "That sounds like him." I kept my voice light despite the tension building in my chest at the thought of them together, of the intimacy that suggested.

  Joy looked down at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. Her claws dug into her palms, leaving sharp impressions.

  "You're punishing yourself." My observation hung in the air between us. "Don't."

  Her eyes flicked up, surprised by my directness. "I deserve it."

  "No." The word came out forcefully. I softened my tone. "Marcelo deserves punishment. Not you."

  A shudder passed through her at his name. I cursed myself for bringing him into this space, for allowing that monster even this much power over her.

  My hand reached for the brush again. The gentle strokes through her hair resumed. The repetitive motion seemed to calm her, and gradually the tension in her shoulders eased. We sat in comfortable silence, the only sound the soft whisper of the brush through her hair.

  I worked methodically, section by section, from the nape of her neck upward. The white strands glinted in the light, almost translucent where they were thinnest. Her breathing slowed, deepened. The brush traveled from root to tip, root to tip, in a hypnotic rhythm that soothed us both. Her head tilted back slightly, following the movement.

  "When you first came to the estate, I thought I understood what you were."

  Joy tilted her head slightly, though she didn't turn to face me.

  My fingers worked through a small tangle. "A rare acquisition. An investment. I was wrong."

  "What am I, then?" Her voice barely above a whisper.

  I considered my answer carefully. "Something I never expected to find. Someone who has changed how I see the world."

  A moment of silence passed between us as the brush continued its gentle rhythm through her hair.

  Joy's shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. "What happens now?"

  "Now we rebuild. Your strength. Your confidence. Whatever Marcelo tried to take from you."

  She nodded, a subtle movement that I felt more than saw. The brush caught on another tangle, and I worked it free carefully, section by section.

  "I feel lost." Her confession came so quiet I had to lean closer to hear. "Since the cellar, since Marcelo, I don't know who I am anymore."

  My hands stilled for a moment. "You're still Joy."

  "Am I?" The question hung between us, fragile and uncertain.

  Setting the brush aside, I moved to kneel before her, bringing us face to face. Her eyes widened at my proximity, but she didn't retreat.

  My hands took hers. "Listen to me. Marcelo took many things from you. He took your freedom, your sense of safety, your control." I squeezed her hands gently. "But he didn't take you. Joy is still here. I see her."

  Tears gathered in her eyes, making the silver shine brighter. One slipped down her cheek. I caught it with my thumb.

  "I don't feel like me," she whispered.

  "Then lean on us until you do. Lean on Selwyn. Lean on me. We'll hold the parts of you that you can't carry right now."

  She blinked rapidly, another tear escaping. "Why would you do that for me?"

  The question struck me deeper than I expected. Why indeed? She was supposed to be property, an investment, a demon fighter I had purchased. When had she become more?

  "Because you matter to us. To me." The words simple but true.

  Joy searched my face, looking for deception perhaps, or manipulation. Finding none, she leaned forward, resting her forehead against mine. The gesture was startlingly intimate, more so than any physical contact we'd shared before.

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  After a moment, I stood and offered my hand. "Come. You need to change into something clean."

  Joy placed her hand in mine, allowing me to help her to her feet. The remnants of her torn shirt hung loosely from her shoulders, revealing glimpses of pale skin beneath. I led her to a wardrobe in the corner and withdrew a fresh shirt, one of mine.

  "This will have to do for now." I turned away to give her privacy.

  Behind me, the rustle of fabric as she changed. The quiet sounds filled the room—cloth sliding against skin, her soft intake of breath as she raised her arms, the almost inaudible sigh as she settled into the fresh garment.

  Then silence. A moment stretched longer than expected.

  "Joy?" I remained facing the door.

  "You kept it."

  Glancing over my shoulder, I saw her standing at the small dresser near the bed, its top drawer open. Her hand held the purple collar with its Garrthor gems. Light caught the stones, sending fractured rainbows dancing across her face as she turned it over in her hands.

  I turned fully, watching as she contemplated the object that once symbolized her captivity but now represented something different between us.

  Without a word, she lifted it to her neck and fastened it herself. The clasp clicked into place with finality.

  She turned to face me fully. "How does it look?"

  My breath caught. The purple gems against her pale skin, the contrast of the dark fabric against her white hair, it was striking. It was designed to be. But more than that, the significance of her choosing to wear it again, of her own volition, without prompting...

  "Perfect." My voice was rougher than I intended. "But wait."

  I moved to the dresser and opened a lower drawer, reaching in to withdraw the silver hair comb Selwyn had given her at the market.

  Joy's eyes widened at the sight of it. "You had it? I thought I lost it..."

  "No." I approached her. "I've been… keeping it safe."

  Her gaze searched mine. "Were you hiding it because Selwyn gave it to me?"

  The question was direct, without accusation. I considered lying, but something in her eyes demanded honesty.

  "At first, perhaps." I moved behind her. "But not anymore."

  My hands gathered her hair gently. With careful fingers, I positioned the silver comb at the crown of her head, sliding it into place so that it held her hair back from her face. My fingers lingered against her scalp, the intimacy of the moment not lost on me.

  "I think," my voice low near her ear, "that I've realized something important."

  Joy remained still, waiting for me to continue.

  "My brother and I, we're going to have to work together."

  My fingers brushed over the silver comb, then trailed down to touch the edge of the purple collar at her throat. The juxtaposition of the two objects, one from Selwyn, one from me, felt significant.

  "Work together for what?" she asked softly.

  "For you. To help you heal. To help you find Ellah. To help you deal with Marcelo."

  "Thank you." The words were simple but weighted with meaning.

  She turned to face me fully. I took in the sight of her. My shirt, the purple collar now fastened at her throat, the silver comb gleaming in her white hair.

  "It suits you. The shirt."

  Joy smoothed her hands down the front. "It's comfortable."

  "Keep it." Moving closer, I adjusted the collar where it had folded incorrectly. My fingers brushed against the warm skin of her neck just above the purple collar.

  She caught my hand before I could withdraw it, holding it against her chest. I felt her heartbeat beneath my palm, steady and strong.

  Her eyes still held mine. "We should check on him."

  I nodded. "He'll be worried about you."

  "About me?" A laugh escaped her. "I stabbed him."

  "And knowing my brother, he's more concerned with how you're feeling about it than with his own injury."

  She nodded, accepting this truth. "He would be."

  I offered her my arm, a formal gesture that brought a small smile to her lips. She slipped her hand into the crook of my elbow, and together we walked toward the door.

  Joy's fingers tightened on my arm with each step, betraying her nervousness despite her carefully neutral expression.

  "He won't blame you," I murmured.

  Her eyes flicked toward me. "You can't know that."

  "I know my brother."

  As we neared the guest room, voices drifted through the partially open door. Ross's deep tones mingled with Selwyn's lighter ones, punctuated by what sounded like cursing. Joy hesitated, her steps faltering.

  I placed my hand over hers where it rested on my arm. The simple contact seemed to steady her. She drew in a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and nodded once.

  We stepped into the doorway together. The scene inside the guest room was unexpected enough to draw Joy closer without hesitation. Selwyn sat propped up on pillows, his shoulder bandaged and arm in a sling. But rather than appearing pained or serious, he was laughing as Ross gestured animatedly while telling some story.

  "And then the ambassador just stands there, completely soaked, with this fish still flopping in his coat pocket..."

  Both men turned at our entrance. Selwyn's laughter faded, his eyes finding Joy immediately. Something passed between them—a silent communication I wasn't part of.

  Ross straightened, glancing between the three of us. "Well, I should check on Lilach. Make sure she hasn't seduced the kitchen staff."

  He moved past us with a significant look in my direction.

  The door clicked shut behind him, leaving the three of us alone. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken words.

  Joy pulled away from me and took a halting step toward the bed. Her fingers twisted together, claws catching on skin.

  "You're wearing the comb." Selwyn's observation broke the silence. His voice held no accusation, only gentle surprise.

  Joy's hand rose to touch it reflexively. "Jacobi found it."

  Selwyn's eyes met mine over her head, a question in them I couldn't quite decipher.

  "And the collar." His gaze dropped to her throat, where the purple gems caught the light.

  "It was my choice." Her voice was steady now, almost defiant.

  Selwyn nodded slowly. "It suits you. They both do."

  Joy took another step closer to the bed, still not meeting his eyes directly. "How bad is it?"

  "The wound?" Selwyn shifted, wincing slightly as he adjusted his position. "I've had worse. Though I must say, your aim is excellent. Clean through the meat of the shoulder, missed bone and anything important."

  "That's not funny." Her voice cracked.

  "No," Selwyn agreed, his expression sobering. "It's not. But it's also not your fault, Joy."

  She shook her head, finally looking directly at him. "I saw your face. I knew it was you. Some part of me knew, and I still—"

  "Stop." Selwyn held out his good hand. "Come here."

  Joy hesitated, then moved to sit gingerly on the edge of the bed. He took her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.

  "Your mind protected you the only way it knew how." His voice was soft but firm. "We pushed too fast. I should have known better than to bring that knife into your room."

  "I could have killed you."

  "But you didn't." The echo of my earlier words. "You stopped yourself. Even in the middle of a flashback, some part of you recognized me."

  Joy's shoulders hunched. "What if it happens again? What if next time I don't stop?"

  "Then we'll be more careful." I moved closer to the bed, standing behind Joy. "Both of us."

  Selwyn's eyes met mine again, something like gratitude in them. Not just for the words, I thought, but for bringing Joy to him, for not keeping her away.

  "May I?" Joy gestured toward his bandaged shoulder.

  Selwyn nodded. With careful fingers, she peeled back the edge of the bandage, just enough to see the wound. Clean and neatly stitched, but still angry and red.

  "I'm so sorry," she whispered, replacing the bandage with gentle care.

  "I know."

  "I'm a danger to you both."

  "No more than we are to ourselves. Have you tasted my cooking?”

  A small, startled laugh escaped her. "That's not funny."

  "Isn't it, though? Just a little?"

  The tension in her shoulders eased slightly. "Maybe a very little."

  I watched them, seeing the way they fit together, the understanding between them that had developed during our time on the mainland. It should have made me jealous. Perhaps part of me still was. But seeing Joy's face soften, seeing Selwyn's gentle smile, I found I couldn't begrudge them this connection.

  "We'll need to change your bandage in a while." I rested a hand on Joy's shoulder. "And you should rest."

  Selwyn nodded, though his eyes remained on Joy. "Will you come back later?"

  Her gaze flicked to me uncertainly.

  "Of course she will." I squeezed her shoulder gently. "We both will."

  Relief washed over Selwyn's face, quickly masked. He leaned back against the pillows, the conversation clearly having taxed his strength.

  "Rest now," Joy said, standing carefully so as not to jostle the bed. "I'll bring fresh bandages later."

  Selwyn's eyes were already drifting closed, medicine Ross had likely given him taking effect despite the midday hour. "Promise?"

  "I promise."

  We left him there, closing the door quietly behind us. In the hallway, Joy leaned against the wall, eyes closed, drawing deep breaths.

  "That wasn't so terrible, was it?" I asked, keeping my voice gentle.

  She opened her eyes, finding mine. "No. Not terrible."

  "Come. You should eat something."

  Joy pushed away from the wall. The morning's events had clearly taken their toll, though she worked to hide it. Her shoulders straightened with deliberate effort.

  "Kitchen or study?" I asked, offering my arm again.

  She considered for a moment. "Study. I don't think I could face everyone just yet."

  "I'll have something brought up."

  She took my arm, her grip firmer now. "Thank you."

  We walked slowly back toward my private rooms.

  "We'll figure this out," I said quietly. "All of it."

  Joy's gaze lifted to mine, her eyes searching. "Promise?"

  "I promise."