Chapter 7 – Marked and Found

Killian

They finally found her.

Rose Penitentiary.

The name hums through my mind, each syllable laced with satisfaction. The hunt is over. My runaway has been cornered — not by my hands, not yet, but soon enough.

She thought she could disappear. Thought she could hide behind concrete walls and government files. Thought she could vanish like smoke.

Cute.

I pace the room, every step deliberate. The lights of the city spill across my floor like gold veins, a reminder of what I own — and who I own. Every building, every man, every shadow on these streets bends to me. She should’ve remembered that.

Instead, she burned me.

Literally.

I roll up my sleeve, letting my eyes settle on the mottled skin of my arm — the blistered, ugly scar left from that night. Her last act before she ran. I trace it with a fingertip, following the ridges like a roadmap. It’s imperfect, raw. But it’s hers. I won’t cover it. I wear it like she wore my collar — proof of belonging.

She was mine. She is mine.

The door creaks open. Gonzalez steps inside, cautious, cap in hand. He knows how to enter my office — quiet, respectful, ready to bleed if needed.

“Well?” I ask, not bothering to face him.

“We confirmed it, Boss. She’s in Rose Penitentiary. Used a different name. Someone helped her change it.”

I smile, slow and sharp. “Phoebe.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Hacker type. Hard to trace. Good, but not good enough.”

“She’s the only one stupid enough to try.”

“Want me to send a team? We could have her out tonight.”

“No.” I turn, fixing him with a stare. “Let her rot.”

He blinks. “Sir?”

“She wanted to run. Let her feel what running gets her. Prison food. Cold beds. Caged animals. Let her think about what she threw away. The life I built. The home I gave her.”

He shifts his weight, uneasy. “And when she’s ready?”

“She’ll crawl back. They always do.”

He nods once, taking the hint. “Anything else, Boss?”

“Yes.” I cross to my desk and slide an envelope across the surface. “Deliver this. No chain of custody. No records. Straight into her hands.”

His eyes flick to the paper, then back to me. “Understood.”

When the door shuts behind him, silence settles like a shroud. I let it linger. It’s the only companion that doesn’t talk back.

The letter waits on the desk, my words pressed into the page like a commandment. No threats — just reminders. She knows what I am. What I’ll do. What happens to those who forget.

I move to the window again, watching headlights weave through the dark streets. Somewhere beyond the skyline, behind those stone walls, she’s sitting in her cell — breathing the same air, looking up at the same moon.

Does she think of me when it’s quiet? When the lights go out and the walls close in? Does she replay the night she defied me? Does she remember the way my voice dropped when I told her to obey — and the fire that followed when she didn’t?

I drag a hand over my face. The memory is still vivid — her eyes, wide with fury; the heat licking my skin; the door slamming as she vanished into the dark. For a moment, I thought I’d imagined her. But no — she’s real. Every scar proves it.

She’ll learn, just like before. Love is obedience. Safety is surrender. I gave her a world, and she tried to burn it down.

Now she’ll live in the ashes.

And when the walls break her — when the nights grow too long, the silence too heavy — she’ll remember who built her, who claimed her, who still waits for her.

She can fight it.

She can deny it.

But I am carved into her the way she is branded into me.

Soon enough, she’ll understand that again.

I reach for the letter, running my thumb across her name — Amara Black. Even on paper, it feels like a promise.

“You’re exactly where I want you,” I whisper. “And when you’ve suffered enough…”

My smile returns, dark and certain.

“…I’ll come bring you home.”