Bound by Obsession

Part 58

Fyodor's New Haven

Far from the reach of the Agency and the Mafia, Dazai woke to the sound of faint rustling outside the large windows. He blinked slowly, his senses coming back to him in fragments. The room was unfamiliar, larger than the last mansion, the air heavy with the scent of something cold and sterile. He was in yet another of Fyodor's hideouts.

It had been two days since they'd left the last place. Fyodor hadn't said much during the journey, simply leading Dazai with a firm hand, as if there was no need for words anymore. The quiet between them was different now—less tense, more resigned.

Dazai rose from the bed, his body moving automatically as he padded over to the window. The scenery was different. This mansion was even more isolated, tucked away in a remote area surrounded by forests and mountains. It was beautiful, in a haunting, desolate kind of way.

Fyodor had said nothing about why they had moved or where they were now. Dazai had stopped asking questions. He knew the answers would be just as cryptic, just as carefully crafted to manipulate him into further submission.

But as much as he tried to convince himself to care, to fight back, there was an undeniable part of him that was tired. So tired of fighting. So tired of the never-ending games between him and Fyodor.

He heard a soft knock on the door, and without waiting for a response, Fyodor entered. His calm, calculating gaze swept over Dazai, as if assessing every flicker of emotion—or lack thereof.

"You seem troubled, Dazai," Fyodor remarked, his voice soft as ever. "Did you have a bad dream?"

Dazai turned away from the window, his face carefully blank. "Why bother asking?"

Fyodor stepped closer, his hand brushing Dazai's arm lightly. The touch was cold, sending a shiver down Dazai's spine, though he didn't flinch. "Because I care."

The words were like venom—sweet, soothing, but deadly. Dazai had heard them too many times to believe them, but something about the way Fyodor spoke made it hard to keep his guard up. His resistance was eroding, piece by piece, and Fyodor knew it.

Fyodor's hand trailed up to cup Dazai's chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. "You should rest," Fyodor whispered. "We have much more to discuss in the coming days."

Dazai's mind was quiet, empty. He had no response, no quip, no resistance left. Fyodor smiled, satisfied, before stepping away and leaving Dazai alone once more.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Dazai's gaze drifted back to the window. Somewhere out there, the Agency and the Mafia were still searching for him, still believing they could bring him back. But Dazai wasn't sure if there was anything left of him to bring back.