THE SIREN'S SONG 𓇼 F. ODAIR

72 ~ the final act of revenge

"Good morning, Darling."

Carolina's mind was hazy. She had spent the past hour dazing in and out of consciousness, unable to see or think clearly for a second. But that voice—that voice was the same voice she had listened to every single day for years—she was able to recognize it in an instant.

"Cyrus," she said, though her words came out garbled.

She opened her eyes but immediately closed them, blinded by the light in the room. The sound of footsteps moving closer to her had her opening her eyes again, and with one painful look, she knew exactly where she was.

The Presidential Palace. Cyrus's bedroom, to be exact. She had spent hours in that room; she knew every inch of it.

Cyrus's hand tipped her chin up, forcing her to look him in the eye. He stared at her for a long moment with a twisted smile that sent a tightness to the pit of her stomach. Carolina tried to move away from him, but she couldn't. Her wrists and legs were tied with rope to a bland wooden chair that looked like it didn't belong in the room full of luxuries.

"Now," Cyrus said carefully, "where has my beautiful wife been all these months?"

Carolina didn't reply to him. She stared down at her lap, which was no longer covered by the extensive, heavy-duty gear District 13 provided. Her brows crinkled, looking down at the revealing dressing gown she was now wearing. She was just about to ask exactly how she had gotten into it when a loud noise took all of her attention.

She moved her eyes to the window on the far side of the room. She couldn't see anything out of it but the bright sunlight, but she could hear what was happening outside. People were screaming, calling out for help.

"Don't focus on them," Cyrus said, moving her chin once again. "Answer the question, darling."

"You know where," Carolina rasped.

Cyrus's expression darkened. "And what exactly have you been up to?"

Once again, Carolina didn't answer him. She refused to. Instead, she turned her gaze back to the window. The crowd outside the window was getting louder and louder.

"What is going on out there?"

"Focus!" Cyrus screamed. Carolina didn't jump at his voice. The anger in it didn't phase her anymore. But when she turned back to him, she wavered. He was playing with a small pocket knife dangerously close to her neck. "Answer. The. Question."

"No," Carolina said, shaking her head firmly. "Cy, put down the knife."

"Answer me!"

"Cyrus!" Carolina shouted, matching his volume. "Put. It. Down."

Something in Cyrus's expression lightened, and he leaned back slightly, laughing under his breath.

"Look at us," he muttered. "Arguing like an old married couple."

"Don't."

"And why not?" Cyrus snapped. "I was a great husband!"

"Shut up, Cyrus."

"I was loving and caring and better than any man that–"

"SHUT UP!" Carolina screeched. "JUST SHUT UP, CYRUS! SHUT UP!"

"YOU SHUT UP!" Cyrus screamed back, launching himself forward and digging the tip of the blade into her neck. Carolina tensed at the cold touch, looking Cyrus dead in the eyes for the first time since she woke up. "YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE–"

"Lina?"

Cyrus jumped away from Carolina and turned to the door the quiet voice had come from.

"Dessa," Carolina sighed with relief.