The first thing Carolus Vale took from me wasn't my body.
It was my certainty.
I didn't notice it at first.
Certainty disappears quietly—like dust wiped from glass.
You only realize it's gone when you try to lean on it.
The car waiting downstairs wasn't marked.
No driver in sight.
The door unlocked when I approached.
"You don't have to get in."
Carolus' voice came through the open window.
He stood a few steps behind me, hands in his pockets, watching.
"I know," I said.
I got in anyway.
The door closed with a sound too final for something so simple.
The city slid past the tinted windows, distorted and distant.
I checked my phone.
No signal.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"Somewhere neutral," he replied. "Where choices don't echo."
"That's not comforting."
"It isn't meant to be."
The car stopped beneath an underground structure—concrete, unmarked, forgotten by the city above.
A place designed to disappear.
Inside, the air smelled like metal and polish.
Art storage.
High-value.
High-risk.
"Why bring me here?" I asked.
Carolus removed his jacket slowly, deliberately.
Hung it over the back of a chair.
"You decided to stay," he said. "Now you learn what that costs."
The room opened into a vault.
Paintings lined the walls.
Some wrapped.
Some exposed.
All priceless.
All stolen.
I recognized three immediately.
My stomach twisted.
"These were declared destroyed," I whispered.
"Yes."
"You're insane if you think this can last."
"It doesn't need to," he replied. "It only needs to be useful."
He handed me gloves.
I didn't take them.
"What happens if I refuse?" I asked.
He didn't answer.
Instead, he picked up a folder and placed it on the table.
Inside—documents.
Names.
Dates.
One of them made my breath hitch.
My name.
Not a file.
A notation.
Risk Vector.
"You've already been noticed," he said calmly. "This is what happens when people like you exist without protection."
"That's not protection," I said hoarsely. "That's ownership."
"Yes."
The word landed hard.
"And now," he continued, "someone wants proof that you belong somewhere."
My pulse roared in my ears.
"Belong to who?"
"To me," he said. "Or to them."
I laughed—sharp, hysterical. "You're giving me a choice with a knife to my throat."
"No," he corrected. "I removed the knife they were holding."
He stepped closer.
Too close.
Not touching.
Never touching.
"Someone betrayed me," he said quietly. "I need to know who."
"And you want me to identify them."
"Yes."
"That makes me a target."
"You already are."
I shook my head. "You said you wouldn't force me."
"I won't," he replied. "I'm asking you to decide who you're willing to become."
He turned and gestured toward one painting.
"Tell me," he said. "Is this real?"
I stared at it.
The brushstroke in the corner—
the flaw only a trained eye would see.
I could lie.
I could protect myself.
I could walk away and let the world burn around me.
Instead, I said the truth.
"It's a forgery," I whispered. "A brilliant one. But rushed."
Carolus' eyes darkened.
"Who?"
I hesitated.
The name formed anyway.
A curator.
A colleague.
Someone who once warned me about him.
The silence afterward was suffocating.
"I didn't kill them," I said quickly. "I didn't—"
"I know," Carolus interrupted. "You identified."
"That's not better!"
"It is," he said. "For you."
He turned away, tapping a message into his phone.
I realized too late what I had done.
"I helped you," I said.
"Yes."
My voice broke. "I helped you hurt someone."
Carolus looked back at me.
"Wrong," he said. "You helped yourself survive."
The truth clawed at my chest.
I hadn't been tricked.
I hadn't been coerced.
I had chosen.
And that choice tasted like iron.
"Am I safe now?" I asked.
He studied me for a long moment.
"You are mine now," he said finally. "Which means you are protected."
I should have recoiled.
Instead, something inside me loosened.
A horrible, dangerous relief.
"Does that make me a criminal?" I asked.
"No," he replied. "It makes you aligned."
I swallowed hard.
"And if I regret this?"
Carolus stepped closer again.
This time, he raised a hand.
Stopped just short of my cheek.
The air between us burned.
"You will," he said softly. "That's how you'll know it mattered."
My breath trembled.
I didn't move away.
That was the moment.
The exact moment innocence stopped being an option.
Somewhere far above us, the city kept breathing.
Unaware.
Untouched.
Down here, I belonged to something darker.
And worse—
a part of me didn't want to leave.
The relief scared me more than the fear.
I stood there, surrounded by stolen art and locked doors, and instead of panic—
I felt anchored.
That was when I knew something inside me had shifted.
Carolus didn't rush to speak.
He never did.
He let silence finish the work.
"You should wash your hands," he said at last. "You're shaking."
"I didn't touch anything," I replied.
"Not physically."
There it was again.
That precision.
That way he dissected me without raising his voice.
He guided me toward a small adjoining room.
A sink.
Clean towels.
White tiles that made the blood drain from my thoughts.
I stared at my reflection.
My face looked the same.
Eyes steady.
Lips pale.
A liar's face.
When I turned back, Carolus was leaning against the doorway.
Watching.
Always watching.
"You didn't have to tell the truth," he said. "Most people lie the first time."
"I know," I answered.
"Why didn't you?"
The question cut deeper than the vault ever could.
"I don't know," I said.
"That's not true."
I closed my eyes.
"Because if I lied," I admitted, "you'd know. And then nothing I said would matter again."
His gaze sharpened.
"Good," he said. "You understand leverage."
I hated that part of me preened at the approval.
He handed me a glass of water.
Our fingers didn't touch.
They didn't need to.
"Do you feel guilty?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Do you feel regret?"
I hesitated.
"No."
The word echoed.
Carolus studied me like a painting revealing its underlayers.
"Guilt fades," he said. "Regret corrodes. You chose correctly."
"That's not comforting."
"It isn't meant to be," he replied.
I set the glass down. "What happens to them?"
"The curator?" he asked.
"Yes."
He considered the question carefully, as if weighing how much truth I could survive.
"They will be removed," he said. "Professionally. Quietly."
My throat tightened. "Removed how?"
"They will no longer interfere."
I pressed my palm flat against the counter, grounding myself.
"You're avoiding the question."
"Yes."
I met his eyes. "Is it because if you answer, I won't be able to pretend anymore?"
For the first time, something like amusement flickered across his face.
"You learn quickly," he said.
"That doesn't make this easier."
"No," he agreed. "It makes it permanent."
The word settled over me like a verdict.
Permanent.
"You marked me," I said suddenly.
"Yes."
"When you put my name in that file."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because unmarked things get taken," he replied. "Or broken."
"That sounds like ownership."
"It is."
The honesty stole my breath.
"And if I want out?" I asked.
Carolus stepped closer.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Close enough now that I could feel his presence like pressure against my skin.
"You won't," he said.
The certainty in his voice made my stomach flip.
"That's arrogance."
"That's observation," he corrected. "You didn't ask how to leave. You asked what happens if you regret it."
I had no defense for that.
He lifted his hand again.
Stopped just shy of my hair.
"You're not fragile," he said quietly. "You're precise. People like you don't survive on the outside once they see what's beneath."
My pulse throbbed painfully.
"What do you want me to become?" I asked.
Carolus' eyes darkened—not with lust, but with intent.
"Indispensable," he said.
The word felt heavier than any chain.
"And if I refuse?" I whispered.
"Then you will spend your life pretending you don't miss this," he replied. "And wondering who else noticed what you can do."
I exhaled shakily.
"That's not a choice."
"It is," he said. "It's just not a comfortable one."
He finally stepped back, breaking the invisible hold.
"You should go," he said. "For tonight."
"For tonight," I repeated.
"Yes," he said. "Tomorrow, you begin."
"Begin what?"
He looked at me with something dangerously close to satisfaction.
"Learning how to lie without lying," he said. "And how to belong without being owned."
I almost laughed.
"That's impossible."
"Not for you."
The elevator ride up was silent.
My reflection in the mirrored walls looked sharper somehow.
Harder around the edges.
When the doors opened, Carolus spoke once more.
"Carlina."
I turned.
"You chose survival," he said. "Don't apologize for it."
The doors closed between us.
Outside, the night air felt too open.
Too exposed.
My phone vibrated as I stepped onto the street.
A news alert.
A respected curator announced an indefinite leave due to an ongoing investigation.
My chest constricted.
It had already begun.
I should have felt sick.
Instead, my first thought was—
He was right.
I hadn't been protected.
I had been claimed.
And the worst part—
I wasn't sure I wanted to give myself back.