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“Sy’s been very helpful to me,” I tell her honestly. “He’s a good King.”

“I’m glad to hear that. He’s a caretaker at heart,” she says warmly, pride flickering in her expression.

“And Nick…” I start, unsure how to finish. The words hang awkwardly between us.

Sarah waves her hand with a knowing chuckle. “He’s Nick. Brash and abrasive, but when he loves, he loves hard.”

The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable, exactly, but it carries weight–like the room itself is holding its breath, waiting for the real conversation to begin.

Sarah finally speaks, her voice gentle yet direct. “Tell me what you’re trying to accomplish here, Arianette.”

I take a deep breath, fingers twisting together in my lap. “I can’t remember big chunks of the past. The kidnapping is mostly a blur. I suspect I was drugged. I catch fragments of my time in captivity, but nothing is concrete.” My voice grows quieter as the memories surface. “I remember a cold cell. Concrete floors. The smell of damp stone and something metallic. There were others there–crying like a soundtrack in the background. Real but not? Masked people came in and out—never showing their faces. They didn’t like me. I was a problem–not one of their chosen sacrifices. I wasn’t supposed to escape.”

Sarah listens without interrupting, her expression attentive and free of judgment.

“But I can’t get to the memories that could be useful, that could actually help.”

“Maybe you’re not sure you really want to uncover those memories,” she notes.

“No. That’s not true. I want to stop whoever did this,” I say, my voice gaining strength. “Whoever killed Laura and Kelsey. Whoever still has Stella locked up–hopefully alive. This person, this ‘Guardian,’ has caused so much harm. I need them stopped.”

“Even if dredging up those memories hurts?” she asks carefully.

“Yes,” I answer without hesitation. “I can handle it.”

Sarah studies me, her hazel eyes thoughtful. “The mind can be a complex thing,” she begins, her tone shifting into something more professional, yet still warm. “It’s wired to protect you. When something is too painful or traumatic, it locks those memories away, burying them deep so you can keep functioning. Fear, panic, and anxiety aren’t always the enemies we think they are. They’re signals. Your body’s alarm system is telling you something is dangerous. That it’s alert and is trying to keep you safe by warning you away from a possible threat.” She pauses, letting her words sink in. “What do you think your body is trying to tell you right now?”

I sit with the question, the weight of it pressing against my chest. The apartment is quiet except for the faint hum of the city far below.

“I think my body is afraid to know what happened to me in that cell,” I confess softly, my throat tight. “It’s scared of what remembering might do to me.”

Sarah nods, her hands still folded neatly in her lap. “Do you think what happened to you in that cell could be worse than what you’ve already experienced as Baroness?”

I look up at her in surprise. There’s a glint of deep understanding in her eyes—recognition of the darkness, the trials, the brutal initiation, and expectations every House girl faces because she’s lived it too.

“I suspect you know how to handle pain. And submission.” Her eyes flick to the puckered lines of the pentagram on my chest. “You carry scars, not as a victim, but as a survivor.”

“I think that someone may have hurt me,” I admit, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “One of the men that kidnapped me told my Baron that he assaulted me.”

She frowns. “Oh, Arianette. I’m so sorry.”

“I have no idea if it’s true. Damon and Hunter both think he said it because he knew he was going to die and it was a last effort to cause chaos.”

“Do you believe that?”

I shrug.

“Your Barons are probably right, but that doesn’t change how your body feels about that information. It’s just another violation on top of a dozen others.”

“Timothy doesn’t know, and if he finds out… he may not want me at all. My purity was part of the agreement for the Black Wedding. Everything between us could be a lie–”

“Hey,” she says, taking my hand. “If what I just saw is a reflection of what’s going on in the House of Night, I don’t think that is something you need to worry about.” She gestures toward the elevator, to where Damon had just been. “That man is smitten. And if what I’m hearing is correct, you’ve brought Timothy Maddox to his knees. I’ll help you uncover the truth for yourself, not for these men. They can handle not knowing every single thing about you.”

I’m not completely sure that’s true, but I have to start somewhere.

“You know, there’s only one woman before you who has managed to tame Maddox–and even then, he didn’t look at her the way he looks at you.”

A warm flush heats my cheeks. “I doubt that.”