Soren’s second week in Lael’s estate passed like clockwork.
Everything was routine—wake, train, eat, silence.
He wasn’t ignored. He was observed.
Lael didn’t speak more than necessary, and yet Soren felt the weight of his presence in every corner of the house.
There was something clinical about the way Lael watched him: not as a man, not as a person—but as something unknown that needed deciphering.
Sometimes, at night, Soren would stand at the window and look out at the iron gates, half-wondering what it would take to leave. Not that he would run. He knew better.
The contract wouldn’t let him.
But one evening, everything shifted.
It started with a collar.
Not one of leather or metal. Not tight. Just a small, elegant band—black silk with a silver clasp. It lay atop Soren’s bed when he returned from training, beside a note in Lael’s handwriting:
“Wear this tomorrow. You’ll be seen.”
No explanation. Just instruction.
Soren stared at it for a long moment. It wasn’t degrading. It wasn’t vulgar. But it was a symbol. A marker that he belonged—on paper, in status, in presence.
The next morning, he wore it.
Lael met him in the front corridor without comment. Dressed in a crisp black suit, his cufflinks glinting like cold metal, he simply gestured for Soren to follow.
A car was waiting. The city passed in blur. And then—
A meeting.
High-floor, glass-walled conference room. Lael, seated at the head. Men in tailored suits. Quiet voices. Dangerous smiles.
And Soren at his side.
“Lael, this is new,” one of the men murmured, gaze flicking to Soren’s collar. “You keeping pets now?”
Lael didn’t respond. Just let the silence answer for him.
Soren said nothing, kept his posture calm. But his hands were clenched at his sides.
He hated the word.
Pet.
He wasn't a pet.
He wasn’t sure what he was, but he knew what he wasn’t.
But Lael, perhaps noticing the shift in his body, placed a single hand on the back of Soren’s chair.
Not gripping. Not possessive.
A silent warning.
Soren didn’t move. But something inside him breathed for the first time in days.
Maybe it was the first time he felt protected without being caged.
Back home, Lael said nothing about the day.
He simply poured himself a drink and stood at the balcony of his study, overlooking the city like it was a chessboard.
“You handled yourself well.”
Soren leaned against the doorframe, the collar still around his neck.
“Is that all I am to you?” he asked. “A well-behaved collar?”
Lael didn’t look at him. But his voice was quiet. “I never asked you to be more.”
Soren nodded once. “Right. You only ask for silence.”
A pause.
Then Lael finally turned around. His eyes were tired—but not unkind.
“Silence is safer.”
“Not for people like me.”
And with that, Soren turned and left.
The collar felt heavier that night.
Next: Chapter 2.5/3.5: Glass Cage/ Something Like Peace
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