Chapter 15: Run and Don't Look Back

The next day, Gwen came back.

Of course she did.

Elliott had known she would.

She was too stubborn, too relentless, too Gwen to just walk away because he told her to.

But this time, when she stepped into his room, she didn’t smile.

She didn’t tease him or call him Ghost Boy.

She just stood there, arms crossed, watching him carefully—waiting.

Waiting for him to admit that he had lied yesterday.

Waiting for him to explain.

Waiting for something.

Elliott sat on the edge of his cot, his hands resting in his lap. His body was rigid, his shoulders tense, as if bracing for a fight he already knew he would lose.

Then, after a long, unbearable silence, he signed—

“You need to stop coming here.”

Gwen’s brows furrowed.

She exhaled sharply, closing the door behind her before stepping closer. “Elliott, what the hell is going on?”

He didn’t look at her.

Couldn’t.

Because if he did, he might not be able to do what needed to be done.

“You need to leave,” he signed instead. “Not just my room. Not just me. You need to leave this place.”

Gwen’s expression hardened. “Why?”

Elliott swallowed, his fingers tightening slightly before he forced them to move.

“Because if you stay, you’re going to die.”

The words made something flicker behind Gwen’s green eyes.

Not fear.

Not disbelief.

But understanding.

Like, deep down, she had already known that something was wrong—she just hadn’t known how bad it was.

Elliott finally looked at her, his expression unreadable, but his hands trembling slightly as he signed, “You have to run. And you can’t look back.”

Gwen didn’t answer right away.

She just stared at him, searching his face, searching for something he wasn’t saying out loud.

And then—softly, carefully—she asked, “Who’s threatening me?”

Elliott’s stomach twisted.

He had wanted to tell her.

Had wanted to warn her about the monster who was watching them both from the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

But if he said it—if he even dared to tell her the name Samuel Delacroix—

Then she would try to fight back.

And she would lose.

So, instead, he shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Gwen’s jaw clenched.

“It matters to me.”

Elliott exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.

Then, after a long pause, he signed, “Just trust me. Please.”

Something about that must have struck her harder than anything else.

Because for the first time since she entered the room, she hesitated.

Her fingers curled at her sides, her weight shifting slightly—like part of her wanted to argue, wanted to demand answers, wanted to stay.

But the other part of her—the part that knew Elliott never begged for anything—was starting to listen.

“…You’re serious about this,” she murmured.

Elliott nodded.

Then, finally, he made his promise.

“I will find you.”

Gwen’s breath caught.

“After I finish what I need to do, after I take back what was stolen from me—I will find you.”

The weight of his words settled between them, heavy and unshakable.

And Gwen—for once in her life—was speechless.

The air between them was tense, charged with something neither of them could name.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, Gwen swallowed hard and muttered, “You better.”

Elliott exhaled, his shoulders slumping slightly with relief.

Gwen shook her head, her voice quieter now. “I don’t know what the hell is going on with you, Elliott. But… if you say I have to leave, then fine.”

Her gaze flickered, something unreadable passing through her expression. “But if you think this is the last time we’ll see each other—”

She stepped forward, pressing a hand against his chest, right over his racing heartbeat.

“—then you really don’t know me at all.”

And with that, she turned and left.

For the first time since meeting her, Elliott prayed she actually listened to him.

---

The moment Gwen walked out of the room, the air shifted.

The warmth she had brought with her was gone, swallowed whole by the cold, suffocating emptiness that had settled into Elliott’s bones long ago.

He sat perfectly still on his cot, staring at the door, his breath coming in slow, measured exhales. His fingers twitched against his knee, itching to do something, but there was nothing—nothing but his thoughts clawing at his skull, tearing through the fragile pieces of his mind.

Had he done the right thing?

Had she really believed him?

Or was she too stubborn, too reckless, too Gwen to actually leave like he had told her to?

His stomach twisted violently at the thought.

Because if she stayed, his father would find her.

And she would die.

Just like the others.

Just like his mother.

Elliott clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms.

He needed to focus.

He needed to stop thinking about her.

Because Gwen wasn’t the priority.

Not yet.

Not until his father was dead.

Elliott’s eyes darkened as the weight of that thought settled over him like a shadow.

His father.

Samuel Delacroix.

The man who had stolen his voice. The man who had sent him to rot in this place. The man who had cut apart his mother like she was nothing more than a specimen on a table.

That monster was still breathing.

And Elliott?

Elliott was still waiting.

Too weak. Too patient. Too careful.

He had spent a year surviving. A year being quiet. A year playing the role his father wanted him to play.

But he wasn’t a child anymore.

He wasn’t a boy waiting to be saved.

He was a weapon waiting to be sharpened.

And the time for waiting was almost over.

Elliott’s breathing steadied as his thoughts shifted, his mind calculating, planning, plotting.

His father thought he had him under control.

That was his first mistake.

Because Elliott had never been under control.

He had been watching.

Learning.

Waiting for the moment when the leash would snap, when the chains would break, when his father would finally realize that he had created his own destruction.

Elliott lifted his hands, pressing his fingers to his throat where his voice used to be.

His father had stolen something from him.

Had tried to make him into something silent. Obedient. Empty.

But Samuel Delacroix had miscalculated something very important.

Elliott was still here.

And he was going to take back what was his.

Everything.

His freedom.

His revenge.

His mother’s legacy.

And when he did—his father would finally understand what it felt like to be powerless.

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