The door sealed behind him, but this time, he left it unlocked. 

He didn’t bother listening. The walls behind him were too thick to carry the sound of Jasper’s breathing or the rustle of sheets. The quiet noise of him curling into himself, finally giving in to exhaustion, wouldn’t reach Damien.

But he didn’t need sound to know what was happening. Jasper was asleep, not because he wanted to be, but because his body gave out before his will did.

He turned and moved through the halls in steady strides, the kind of walk that came from knowing every inch of this place. Every turn. Every trap. The lights overhead cast long shadows across the concrete, and he let his mind move with them, away from the present.

Back to the first time he saw Jasper Sinclair.

Not in a file. Not in intelligence briefings or hollow press photos.

But really saw him.

It had been a fundraiser. Hours earlier, he’d tapped into the building’s security feed. It was easier than it should have been. He’d written better code in his sleep. The system barely made him try. By the time anyone arrived, Damien was watching from the dark, unseen but everywhere.

He hadn’t been watching for Jasper, not at first. He had hacked in for Vincent.

But then he’d seen the son.

Not performing. Not laughing with the donors. He stood in the gallery, beneath a portrait of some war hero no one remembered. The noise of the fundraiser barely reached this far. Muting lights skimmed the frames, darkness gathering along the length of the gallery. Jasper wasn’t looking at the painting, just through it, everyone and everything around him, forgotten.

And Damien had paused. He watched through the lens, silent and still.

Jasper looked like a porcelain prince torn from a fairytale. Midnight blue silk clung to him, not like it was chosen but like it belonged there, every movement breathing elegance. It was impossible not to watch him.

But Damien could see it, even then. The small tremors beneath the surface. The way his shoulders held tension that didn’t match his age. The way his mouth twitched, slight but consistent, like every word spoken to him scraped at something inside. He smiled at a congressman, careful and rehearsed. But the second he turned, he blinked hard. Not a tic but a tell. Like the mask slipped the moment no one was watching.

Damien didn’t look away.

He watched him adjust his cufflinks multiple times without a reason. Watched him check a phone he hadn’t received a message on. Watched him glance at the exit over and over again, like he was solely focused on how fast he could disappear without drawing attention. Damien’s gaze never wavered, tracing each small movement as if memorizing every crack in the facade.

He watched him and thought, you don’t belong here. You wear the mask like a lie, but you see everything. You’re not blind, you’re a prisoner, and no one’s coming to save you.

That look. He knew it too well. He’d worn it, once. From that moment forward, Vincent wasn’t the only target anymore. Not to kill. Not even to use. Not then.

Damien just wanted to see how deep the cracks went. How much of Jasper Sinclair was an act, and what was waiting underneath once it broke. 

Now, months later, with Jasper curled on a mattress inside his facility, stripped of his illusions, that moment still played in Damien’s mind like a bookmark in time. The beginning.

He stepped into the armory, toward a wall of weapons and neatly packed bags.

Cam was crouched at the workbench, sleeves rolled, soldering iron in hand. Wires spilled from a half disassembled signal jammer.

“How’d it go?” Cam asked casually, like Damien hadn’t just left Jasper in the middle of a psychological free fall.

Damien went straight for the locker, the lock clicking under his thumbprint. “He’s asleep.”

Cam glanced up. “You let him wear himself out, didn’t you?”

Damien ignored the question. He crossed the room and opened a drawer, pulling out a compact pistol and a folded cloth pouch. 

“He needed to fail,” Damien said, coolly. Besides, he was already tired before he started. The sprint just stripped away what was left.

“Of course he did,” Cam said to himself, more commentary than a thought.

Damien didn’t glance his way. Instead, he was inspecting the pistol he’d just retrieved, matte black and compact. He checked the slide, the chamber, the weight in his palm. Then he unfolded the cloth pouch and laid its contents out on the table. Spare mags. A silencer. A thin knife with a smooth handle and a quiet kind of threat.

His movements were relaxed, like he was assembling a thought rather than a weapon.

“Failure leaves nothing to hide behind,” Damien said quietly. “Especially when it’s personal.”

Cam watched him for a second. “You always treat everything like it’s a case file.”

Damien’s lips curved faintly, but it wasn’t a smile. “It’s observation.”

The escape hadn’t been a mistake. It had been necessary. Vital. Jasper had to believe he still had control before he could understand what it meant to lose it.

And now?

Now Damien had seen something more than defiance. More than anger. He’d seen every crack beneath the surface he’d been waiting for.

And those cracks didn’t disappoint.

Because there was something in the way Jasper had looked up at him tonight, after everything. After the running. After the fight. In the way his voice had broken, laced with fury, shame, betrayal. Like he couldn’t decide whether to hit Damien or fall apart.

I don’t trust you.

He’d said it like a curse. But still… he’d taken Damien’s hand. Drawn in, even though he didn’t want to be. Even as every instinct screamed against it. He kept reaching anyway.

That contradiction. That’s what mattered.

“I left him the tablet,” Damien said aloud. “Encrypted. But there.”

“So you’re dangling a worm in front of an unstable hostage.” Cam gave a short laugh. “You’re sadistic.”

“I’m efficient, there’s a difference,” Damien said, his voice flat. “And he’s not a hostage anymore. I moved him to the spare room. Down the hall from mine.” Damien said without hesitation. 

Cam studied him for a moment. “Interesting…” he murmured. “So what’s the next step? You throw him into training? Brief him?”

“Soon.” Damien’s eyes lingered on the blade. 

“You’re being awfully careful with him.” Cam adjusted a tiny circuit board on the signal jammer, eyes darting between the soldering iron and Damien.

That earned Cam a look, but he didn’t deny it. 

“You like this one,” Cam said while fidgeting with the dial, a Cheshire cat grin growing on his face. 

Damien responded flatly, as if correcting a misconception rather than agreeing. “He reacts.”

“I’ve seen how you handle reactions, Graves. You’re not one to settle for a bed and privacy when dealing with people like this. You usually push harder, play mind games, keep them off balance,” Cam said as a matter of fact. “So why the change?” he pressed. 

Damien didn’t entertain it. “He’s where I want him. That’s enough.” 

“Alright.” Cam put his hands up in surrender. “Just remember, he’s not on our side, at least, not yet.”

“No, he’s not.” But he would be. It was just a matter of time.

Cam was right to question it. If it had been anyone else, Damien would’ve ended it on the spot. A glare like that, a mouth full of teeth and spit, he’d have slammed them into the wall, cracked a bone or two just to hear the silence after. No warnings. No chances.

But Jasper wasn’t like the others. He didn’t react with pitiful sobs or hollow threats. He reacted like he didn’t know how to wear the mask anymore. Like every word Damien said burned through another layer of self deception.

He needed to be watched, cornered, steered. Damien already knew how to handle him. He knew what to press, when to pull, how far to take him before he snapped. And no one else was going to touch that line but him.

Besides, he liked the fury. The fear. The confusion. The trembling, too. The way Jasper’s hands had curled into fists, not just to strike, but to hold himself together. He liked the flush that had made its way up to Jasper’s cheeks when he got too close. The way he held eye contact just a beat too long, like he wasn’t sure if he should recoil or see how far Damien would go.

That feeling, the part Jasper couldn’t even name yet, he liked that most of all.

It was…new.

Vincent had gone to great lengths to ensure his son was untouchable. But Damien had touched him anyway. Not just physically. He was in his head.

Jasper didn’t know himself yet. Which meant Damien could be the one to define him. And hate? That was just the beginning. Soon, he’d be under his skin, behind every breath, every decision. Not because he commanded it. But because resistance would become meaningless.

Because eventually, there’d be nowhere left to run.

Damien moved back to the locker and grabbed a black duffle bag. He hauled it out in one fluid motion, setting it briefly on the table as he zipped it open. He placed the pistol and pouch beside a burner phone and comms earpiece. Nothing he didn’t need. Nothing he couldn’t kill with.

He tucked a sidearm into a secure inner pocket and stepped into the hall, bag in hand.

“Where you headed?” Cam said over his shoulder, his voice broke the quiet.

Damien didn’t look over. “Not far.”

“That’s not an answer,” Cam said. “You don’t grab your gear for a midnight stroll.”

He slung the bag over his shoulder and finally turned. His face was unreadable. “There’s intel I need to confirm. In person.”

Cam raised an eyebrow. “At this hour?”

“At any hour,” Damien said flatly.

Cam turned fully now, watching him like he had a dozen questions but wasn’t sure which one he’d regret. “And here I thought you’d be babysitting our prince all night.”

Damien’s jaw tightened, but his expression didn’t shift. “He doesn’t need me to watch him.”

“Right. Because leaving him with classified information, and I’m assuming an unlocked door, is totally safe.” Cam snickered. “So what should I tell the others?”

“Tell them I’ll be back before sunrise.”

“And if you’re not?”

Damien glanced over his shoulder. “That would be a problem, wouldn’t it?”

“If that’s what you’re into.” Another grin. 

Damien’s gaze drifted, just for a second, like his mind had stepped into darker territory.

“I don’t mind it.”