Chapter 6: The Hunt for Selena
The motel room swam into focus through a haze of cheap whiskey and something else—something chemical and cold that spread through Marcus's veins like ice water. He blinked, but his eyelids felt like they were weighted with lead. The fluorescent light above him buzzed with a frequency that seemed to vibrate inside his skull, and the world tilted and swayed like the deck of a ship in rough seas.
He tried to move his arms. They wouldn't respond.
"Easy now," a voice purred from somewhere to his left. "You're still coming around. Give it a moment."
Marcus turned his head—or tried to. His neck muscles protested, trembling with the effort of lifting his chin. The room resolved into focus: cracked linoleum floors, beige walls stained with decades of neglect, a sagging bed with a mattress that had seen better days. The curtains were drawn tight, sealing the room in a sickly pink glow from the neon sign outside.
Selena stood by the door, her arms crossed, watching him with those ice-blue eyes that seemed to strip away every layer of pretense. She'd shed her scarlet dress somewhere along the way, replaced by a black silk robe that tied at the waist, the fabric catching the neon glow with every subtle shift of her hips.
"Where am I?" Marcus's voice came out slurred, thick and clumsy in his mouth.
"A motel. Nothing fancy, I'm afraid. But it's private, and that's what matters, isn't it?" She crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps, her bare feet silent against the cracked linoleum. "You were in quite a state at that bar. Drinking alone, muttering to yourself, trying to call someone who wouldn't pick up."
His phone. He'd been trying to call Brandon, leaving desperate messages, begging him to fight, to remember, to break free from whatever hold this woman had on him. And then she'd appeared, sliding onto the stool beside him like a ghost made flesh, and she'd ordered him a drink, and he'd been too exhausted, too raw, too desperate to say no.
"What did you put in my drink?" Marcus tried to sit up, but his body refused to cooperate. He was lying on the bed, he realized—fully clothed, but that could change at any moment. Panic clawed at the edges of his consciousness, a wild animal scrabbling against a cage.
"Something to help you relax." Selena sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight. "You were so tense, Marcus. All that anger and fear, coiling up in your chest like a spring. I just wanted to help you let it go."
"Bullshit." The word came out weaker than he intended, almost a slur. "You drugged me. You're going to—to do whatever you did to Brandon."
She smiled—slow, satisfied, the smile of a predator who had cornered her prey and was savoring the moment. "There are no drugs in your system, darling. Well, nothing more than the whiskey you poured down your throat with such enthusiasm. The rest is just suggestion. You were so eager to drink, so eager to drown your sorrows. You're half-susceptible to hypnosis when you're exhausted and emotional. And you, Marcus, were very, very emotional."
His hands clenched into fists at his sides. He could feel his fingernails biting into his palms, the sharp pain a lifeline in the fog of confusion. "You're a monster."
"Everyone says that at first. It's understandable. But in time, you'll come to see me as something else." She reached out and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, her touch surprisingly gentle. "I'm a guide. A sculptor. I help people become who they truly are beneath all the layers of society and expectation and masculine posturing."
"I'm not going to let you—"
"Let me what?" Her voice was soft, almost kind. "Let me help you? Let me show you the truth about yourself?" She tilted her head, studying him like a specimen under glass. "You know, when you burst into my office tonight, I saw so much potential in you. The way you moved, the way you spoke—there's a strength there, Marcus. But also a hunger. A need that you've been suppressing for years."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't you?" She leaned closer, close enough that he could smell her perfume—something floral and dark, a scent of night-blooming jasmine. "When you were with Brandon, you held his head, didn't you? You fisted your hands in his hair and you fucked his mouth like he was nothing more than a toy. And you loved it. You loved the power. You loved feeling his throat constrict around your cock. You loved being in control."
Marcus's jaw tightened. His body betrayed him with a flush of heat, a stirring in his groin that he couldn't deny, no matter how hard he tried.
"That's not..." he started, but the words died in his throat.
Selena's smile widened. "It's all right to admit it. There's no shame in craving domination. The world tells men they must be strong and gentle, tender and fierce, all at once. It's impossible. It's contradictory. And so you bottle up these darker urges, these primal instincts, until they fester and rot. You grow resentful, frustrated, angry. And when you finally snap, you hurt people you claim to love."
"I never hurt Brandon. He—" Marcus swallowed hard. "He meant something to me. He's my friend."
"He's your slut." Selena's voice was matter-of-fact, clinical yet somehow obscene. "And you know it. You felt it when you were inside him. The way he yielded to you, the way he surrendered his body to your pleasure. He wanted it, Marcus. He needed it. And you gave it to him."
His cock was hard now, straining against his jeans, an undeniable testament to the truth of her words. Marcus squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the image—Brandon on his knees, looking up at him with those vacant, hungry eyes, pleading to be used.
"Let me help you explore this side of yourself," Selena continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Let me help you become the man you're meant to be. Not the heroic protector who charges in to save the day, but the predator who takes what he wants and doesn't apologize for it."
"I don't want your help."
"Of course you don't. No one ever does at first. But they always come around." She reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out a pendant—silver, gleaming, the same one she'd used on Brandon. It caught the pink neon glow and seemed to sparkle with malevolent intent.
Marcus turned his head away. "No. I won't look at it."
"You don't have to." She let the chain slide through her fingers, the pendant swinging in front of his face anyway, a pendulum of silver light. "Your mind already knows what it wants. It's just a matter of letting it speak louder than your conscious thoughts."
"Stop." His voice cracked. "Please."
"Stop? I haven't even started." She laughed, low and musical, the sound sending chills down his spine. "But I will. We have all night, Marcus. All night to undo the carefully constructed fortress of your ego. All night to break down the walls and reveal the true man beneath."
The pendant swayed. Marcus's eyes tracked it despite himself, drawn to its hypnotic motion like a moth to flame. His thoughts grew fuzzy, the edges going soft and blurry. He knew he should fight, knew he should close his eyes or bite his tongue or do something , but his body had stopped responding to his commands.
"Good," Selena murmured. "That's very good. You're already sinking, aren't you, darling? Sinking into that warm, dark place where thoughts become dreams and dreams become reality."
"I don't..." Marcus's voice trailed off. His eyes went glassy.
"You don't want to fight anymore. You want to surrender. You want to be good, don't you, Marcus? You want to please me."
"Want to please," he repeated, his voice flat and dreamy.
"That's right. And do you know how you can please me?"
"How?"
"By opening yourself completely. By letting me inside your mind, into every dark corner and hidden crevice. By becoming my instrument, my toy, my obedient little slave."
The word "slave" sent a jolt through Marcus's body. He stiffened, a flicker of resistance cutting through the haze. "No. I'm not—I don't—"
"Shh." Selena's voice was pure velvet. "It's all right to be a slave, Marcus. Half the world is enslaved to someone or something. Debt, duty, addiction, affection. The chains are just easier to see when they're worn on the surface. Yours will be invisible. No one will know. Except for me."
He was sinking again. He could feel it—the sensation of falling into something soft and warm and all-consuming. The pendant swung before him, a silver anchor in a sea of pink neon, and his mind went quiet, the frantic scramble of thoughts fading into a distant hum.
"Who do you belong to, Marcus?"
"...I don't... belong..."
"Yes, you do. You just haven't realized it yet." She reached out and placed a hand on his chest, right over his heart. "I can feel it beating. Fast. Scared. But excited, too. Beneath all that fear, there's a part of you that wants this. Wants to be owned. Wants to be used. It's been there for years, hasn't it? Whispering in your ear in the dark. Telling you that being strong all the time is exhausting, that all you really want is to let go."
His eyes were completely blank now, fixed on the pendant with unseeing intensity. "Tired."
"Yes, so tired. You've been carrying so much weight, so much responsibility. You were the hero of your own story, always rushing in to save everyone else. But who saves the hero, Marcus? Who holds him when he falls apart?"
"...No one..."
"That's right. No one. Until now. Until me." She tucked the pendant away, her mission accomplished. "Who do you belong to, Marcus?"
He blinked, his lips moving soundlessly. Then, in a voice that was barely a whisper: "You."
"Good boy." She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead, a benediction. "And what are you?"
"...Yours..."
"Every part of you. Every cell, every thought, every dream. But most importantly, every filthy, filthy desire. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"You want to be my little slut, don't you? You want to get on your knees and worship me like the goddess I am."
"Worship you." His voice was growing Bimbo in its inflections, lighter, breathier. "Want to worship you."
Selena smiled, slow and triumphant. "Then show me, darling. Show me how desperate you are to please me."
Marcus moved. His body obeyed her voice, sliding off the bed and onto his knees on the cracked linoleum. He looked up at her, his eyes glazed and hungry, and reached for the tie of her silk robe.
"That's it," she encouraged, her voice dropping to a husky purr. "Take what you want. I'm giving it to you freely."
He parted the robe, revealing her body—pale and smooth, her skin luminous in the pink glow. She wasn't wearing anything underneath. His breath caught in his throat, a low whimper escaping his lips.
"Kiss me," she commanded. "Worship me. Make me feel like the queen you know I am."
Marcus leaned forward eagerly, pressing his mouth to her thigh, his hands finding her hips. He kissed his way up her body, mouth open, tongue trailing hot and wet along her skin. She smelled like night-blooming jasmine and something darker, something that made his head spin with desire.
"Such a good boy," she murmured, running her fingers through his hair. "You're learning so quickly."
He reached the apex of her thighs and paused, looking up at her with those vacant, hungry eyes. "May I?"
"Please."
He buried his face between her legs, his tongue finding her clit with an intuition that surprised even her. She gasped, her hips bucking forward, and he redoubled his efforts, lapping at her with desperate, greedy strokes. He couldn't think anymore. He didn't want to. All that existed was the taste of her, the heat of her, the sound of her moans filling the dingy motel room.
"That's it," she breathed, grinding against his mouth. "Don't stop, darling. Don't ever stop."
He wrapped his arms around her thighs, holding her in place, and surged harder against her, his tongue sliding inside her, curling, coaxing, pushing her toward the edge. She threw her head back and cried out, her body shuddering with release, and he drank every drop of her pleasure as if it was the only thing that mattered in the world.
When she finally pushed him away, trembling and satisfied, he looked up at her with sloppy grin on his face.
"Please," he said, his voice reverent. "Let me do more. Let me worship you for hours."
Selena laughed, low and wicked. "Oh, we're just getting started, darling. But first..."
She reached into her robe and pulled out another vial—clear liquid, glittering in the neon light.
"Let's see how obedient you truly are. Open your mouth, Marcus. Drink this."
He complied without hesitation. The liquid tasted sweet, chemical and cloying, and as it slid down his throat, he felt his mind dissolve further. The world narrowed to a point of pure sensation. He was nothing. He was hers.
"Now," Selena said, shedding her robe completely and lying back on the stained mattress, spreading her legs in invitation. "Come here and fuck me like you mean it. Show me what a desperate, filthy whore you've become."
Marcus crawled onto the bed, his movements mechanical yet reverent. His cock was already hard, leaking against his jeans, and he fumbled with his belt with clumsy fingers until Selena took pity on him and unfastened the clasp herself.
"Impatient," she chided. "But that's all right. I like them desperate."
He slid into her in one thrust, a groan tearing from his throat as the heat of her enveloped him. She arched beneath him, her nails digging into his shoulders, and started to move.
"That's it," she encouraged, her voice a purr of satisfaction. "Fuck me. Fuck your mistress. Show me how much you want to please me."
He drove into her with abandon, all thought abandoned, his body obeying nothing but her voice. The bed creaked beneath them, the headboard banging against the wall in a rhythm that echoed through the tiny room. Sweat glistened on his skin, and his breath came in ragged gasps.
"Look at me," she commanded. "Look into my eyes and tell me who you belong to."
He met her gaze, his vision swimming with a mixture of arousal and twisted devotion. "You. I belong to you, Mistress."
"Good little whore." She dug her heels into his lower back, pulling him deeper. "Now come for me. Come inside me like the worthless piece of meat you are."
His orgasm crashed over him with a force that left him shaking, his hips jerking through the final thrusts as he emptied himself into her. She watched him with a detached, satisfied smile, like a scientist observing an experiment.
When he collapsed on top of her, panting and spent, she stroked his hair with almost maternal tenderness.
"See how easy that was?" she murmured. "See how natural it is to surrender?"
Marcus's eyes were already growing heavy. The exhaustion, the alcohol, the climax—they all combined to drag him down into unconsciousness.
"Sleep," she whispered. "When you wake up, you'll remember everything. But you won't mind. You'll want more. You'll need more. And I'll be here to give it to you."
His lashes fluttered against his cheeks. "Mistress..." he murmured, the word slurring into the pillow.
"Good boy." She pressed a kiss to his sweaty forehead. "Now sleep, my beautiful toy. Tomorrow, we have so much work to do."
As his breathing evened out, Selena reached for her phone from the nightstand. She pulled up Brandon's contact and texted two words:
Bring breakfast.
Then she lay back, basking in the pink glow of the neon light, and began to plan.
Morning light crept through the gaps in the curtains, thin and anemic, cutting pale stripes across the motel room's stained carpet. Marcus stirred on the bed, his body heavy and foreign, limbs tangled in sheets that smelled of bleach and despair. His head throbbed with the kind of hangover that came with memory gaps and misplaced dignity.
He blinked. The ceiling was beige. The light fixture was rusted. And Selena was sitting in a plastic chair by the window, fully dressed, watching him with those ice-blue eyes that made him feel like a specimen pinned to a board.
"Good morning, darling," she said, her voice warm and almost kind. "You slept well. I watched you. You didn't even twitch."
Marcus tried to sit up. His muscles protested, and his stomach churned like he'd swallowed a fistful of gravel. "What the hell did you do to me?"
"I helped you relax." She crossed her legs, the black fabric of her dress rustling. "You were so tense when I found you. All that anger and fear and self-loathing, curdled inside you like old milk. And now you feel lighter, don't you? Cleaner."
He tried to summon the anger, the outrage, the sense of violation that he knew he should feel. But the emotions felt distant, muffled, like they were trapped on the other side of a pane of glass. Instead, what he felt was something else entirely—a gnawing, restless hunger that had nothing to do with food.
"Where's Brandon?" Marcus's voice was hoarse.
"He'll be here soon. He's bringing breakfast, as I asked him to." Selena pulled a compact mirror from her purse and checked her reflection, smoothing a hair that had come loose from her ponytail. "You two have been friends for a while, haven't you? He talks about you in his sessions sometimes. Did you know that? When he's deep under, and I ask him about the people he cares about, your name comes up a lot."
Marcus's jaw tightened. "He talks about me?"
"In his way." She snapped the compact shut and tucked it away. "When he's fully submerged, I ask him questions about his life—his childhood, his regrets, his hidden desires. He's very open, as you can imagine. And lately, he's been talking about you a great deal. About the way you used to roughhouse in the park. About that time he sprained his ankle hiking, and you carried him down the mountain for two miles because he refused to let you call for help. About the way he always felt safe with you."
The memories surfaced, unbidden—clear and painful in their vividness. The weight of Brandon on his back, warm and solid. The smell of pine resin and sweat. The feeling of being needed in a way that made his chest tight.
"He used to look at you," Selena continued, her voice dropping lower, more intimate. "He didn't know he was doing it. But deep under hypnosis, all those little subconscious slips become glaringly obvious. The way his breath catches when he sees you walk into a room. The way his pupils dilate when you touch him casually—a hand on his shoulder, a playful shove. The way he's always wanted more than friendship, but never had the courage to say it out loud."
Marcus's throat had gone dry. "You're lying."
"I never lie, darling." She crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, close enough that he could smell the jasmine perfume she wore. "Now he's finally free to act on those feelings. Look at how willing he was last night. How eager. He didn't even hesitate when I told him to get on his knees. He just did it."
"And you turned him into that." Marcus spat the words, but they lacked venom. "You made him into a—a thing. A toy."
"I gave him permission to be what he always wanted to be deep down. There's a difference." Selena reached out and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, her touch gentle but unnerving. "And now I'm going to do the same for you."
The door clicked open before Marcus could respond. Brandon walked in, balancing a grease-stained paper bag and two paper cups of coffee. He was wearing jeans and a loose t-shirt, but his movements were different—softer, more fluid, his hips swaying with a feminine grace that looked wrong on his athletic frame.
"Hi, Marcus," he said, his voice light and breathy. "You're awake! I got you coffee and some breakfast sandwiches. I didn't know if you liked bacon or sausage, so I got both."
Marcus stared at his friend, his chest aching. "Brandon, you don't have to do this. You can fight it. Whatever she's done to you, you can—"
"No." Brandon set down the bag on the cracked Formica counter and turned to face him. His expression was placid, dreamy, utterly content. "I don't want to fight it, Marcus. This is where I belong. I'm happy. Happier than I've ever been."
"You're not. This isn't you."
"Maybe I never knew who I was until now." Brandon crossed the room and draped himself over Selena's lap, nuzzling into her neck like a contented cat. She stroked his hair absently, her eyes fixed on Marcus with a knowing smirk. "I was so confused before. All that pressure to be tough and dominant and in control. It was exhausting, Marcus. I didn't want to be that person. I just wanted to be good. I wanted to be taken care of."
Marcus's stomach lurched. He remembered, suddenly, the way Brandon had looked at him all those years—the lingering glances, the shy touches that seemed to last a moment too long. He remembered the way his own heart had hammered in his chest, and how he'd buried that reaction deep down where he wouldn't have to look at it.
"See how content he is?" Selena murmured, pressing a kiss to Brandon's temple. "See how his body responds to kindness and direction? He stopped fighting a long time ago, Marcus. He realized that surrender feels better than resistance ever did."
Brandon nuzzled against her, his eyes drifting shut. "Mmm. I love you, Mistress."
"I know you do, sweet boy." She motioned for Marcus to come closer. His body obeyed before his mind could object, sliding off the bed and moving toward her like a puppet on a string. "Sit. I want to show you something beautiful."
He knelt beside her, his knees pressing into the hard linoleum. The pendant was in her hand again, catching the thin morning light, swaying in a rhythm that seemed to match the beating of his heart.
"Focus on the light," she said, her voice dropping into that low, smoky register that made his thoughts dissolve. "Let it pull you in. Your mind is a fortress, Marcus. But even fortresses have gates. And you're going to unlock yours for me."
"Brandon," Marcus tried, his voice cracking. "Look at me. Snap out of it."
But Brandon just smiled, dreamy and vacant, and pressed closer to Selena's side. "It's so much better when you let her in. Please, Marcus. Let her in."
"I don't want—"
"Shh." Selena's voice was silk and shadows. "You don't have to want. You just have to let go."
The pendant swung. Marcus's eyes tracked it, despite every instinct screaming at him to look away. His mind grew foggy, the edges of his consciousness blurring like watercolor left out in the rain. He felt himself sinking, falling, the world telescoping down to the silver glint and the rhythm of her voice.
"That's it," she murmured. "You're doing so well. Just a few more breaths, and you'll be in a place where all your worries melt away. A warm, soft place. A place where you don't have to be strong or brave or in control."
"...Warm..." Marcus heard himself say, though he wasn't sure he'd spoken aloud.
"Yes, warm. Like a bath. Like a blanket around your shoulders. You feel safe here, don't you? You feel seen."
"...Yes..."
"And you see me, too, don't you? You see me as the woman who saved you from your own darkness. Who gave you permission to be the man you've always wanted to be."
"...Yes..."
"Who do you belong to, Marcus?"
He paused. The haze around him thickened, and somewhere deep in the fog, a voice of protest tried to raise itself. But it was too weak, too tired, far too exhausted to put up a fight.
"To you," he breathed.
Selena smiled. "And what are you?"
"...Yours..."
The word felt natural slipping past his lips. It tasted like surrender and honey all at once. He felt his shoulders relax, a tension he hadn't even known he was carrying melting away from his frame.
"Good boy." She tucked the pendant away and reached down, slipping her fingers under his chin, tilting his face up to meet her gaze. "You're going to stay with me now, aren't you? You're going to be one of my good little playthings, just like Brandon."
"Stay with you," Marcus repeated. "Good little plaything."
"Just like Brandon," she repeated, guiding his gaze toward his friend. Brandon was watching him with a look of genuine delight, his expression open and unguarded. "You're going to take care of each other for me, aren't you? You're going to play together, be sweet together, and worship me together."
"Yes, Mistress."
"Very good." She rose, pulling Brandon up with her. "Now take off your clothes, Marcus. Let me see the body I'm going to reshape."
His fingers moved to the hem of his shirt. He didn't think about it. He just did it.
When he was fully naked, kneeling on the floor, his cock already beginning to thicken, Selena circled him like he was a statue in a museum. She ran her nails lightly along his shoulders, his back, the curve of his ass. He shivered, his skin breaking out in goosebumps.
"Beautiful," she said. "You've kept yourself in decent shape. That's good. I like my playthings to be pretty."
"Thank you, Mistress," he murmured, the words coming automatic.
Selena turned to Brandon. "Kneel beside him, sweet boy. Show him how it's done."
Brandon lowered himself to the floor, his movements fluid. He didn't remove his clothes, but he didn't have to—he was already perfectly attuned to her commands, his body settling into a position of complete submission. Marcus watched, his mind too foggy to do anything but follow his example.
"Now," Selena said, producing a small bottle of lube from her purse, "let's see how well you two can play together."
She knelt behind Marcus, her hand sliding down his belly. Her fingers were cold from the air, and the contact sent a gasp through his body. She coated her fingers with lube, then pressed one, slowly, inside him.
His eyes went wide. He'd never felt anything like this before. The intrusion was foreign, uncomfortable, but as she worked her finger in deeper, curling it against something inside him, a spike of pleasure shot up his spine.
"Oh god," he choked.
"Not god, darling. Me." She added a second finger, scissoring them apart, scissoring them open. "You're going to take care of Brandon now. You're going to slide that nice hard cock of yours into his pretty little hole, and you're going to fuck him until he screams. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mistress," he breathed.
"Good boy." She withdrew her fingers and slicked up his cock, stroking him until he was fully hard. "Now position yourself behind him."
Brandon had already lowered his jeans, baring himself to his friend. The sight of his pale skin, the curve of his ass, made Marcus's mouth water.
"Go on," Selena urged. "Take him."
Marcus gripped Brandon's hips, aligning their bodies. He hesitated for just a moment—then pushed inside.
Brandon moaned, dollar signs of pleasure painting themselves across his features. "Oh, yes," he breathed. "That's it, Marcus. That's so good. That's so good."
Marcus began to move, his hips thrusting with an instinct that felt both primal and foreign. He watched himself drive into Brandon, saw the way his friend's body yielded to accommodate him, saw the look of pure ecstasy in his eyes, and his own pleasure swelled to a dizzying pitch.
"That's it," Selena purred, watching them from the bed. "Fuck him, Marcus. Fuck him until his brains are soup."
"No," Marcus heard himself say, but his body didn't listen. His hips kept thrusting, deeper and faster, chasing pleasure that felt so close to something else, something forbidden, that the edges bled into one another.
"Don't hold back," Selena continued. "Let yourself go. Let yourself taste everything you've been denying yourself for so long. It feels so good, doesn't it? So natural. Like sliding into a glove that fits just right."
"Brandonthe words were going to form a plea, but they never did; instead, he only moaned, body locking onto the rhythm they'd established. He was lost.
"Look at him," Selena said, stepping closer, her voice the only reality left. "Look at your friend's face. Look at how much he loves having you inside him. He's been dreaming about this forever. And now you're giving it to him. Aren't you?"
"Yes," Marcus choked out, his hips slamming into Brandon with abandon.
"Who do you belong to, Marcus?"
"You," he gasped. "You, Mistress."
"And what are you?"
"...Yours..."
"That's right. My little slut." She crouched beside them, her face inches from his. "Now come for me, sweetheart. Come inside Brandon and feel how tight he clenches around you when he cries."
The orgasm crashed over him like a wave, obliterating every thought in its path. He convulsed, pouring heat into his friend's body as Brandon cried out beneath him, his own release streaking across the scratched floor. For a long moment, there was nothing but sensation—white-hot, shattering, blinding.
When Marcus came back to himself, he was lying on the floor, curled against Selena's legs, his cheek resting against her calf. Brandon was beside him, similarly collapsed, his breathing slow and peaceful.
"See?" Brandon said, his voice soft and sleepy. "Didn't that feel right?"
Marcus looked up at Selena, at the satisfied curve of her mouth, and knew the answer. "Yes, Mistress."
Sometime later, he would wonder how he'd gotten there. He would catch himself in the mirror and see the collar locked around his throat, silver and snug. He would find messages on his phone from friends, coworkers—all unanswered. He would walk past his apartment building, no longer certain which door was his.
And through it all, that voice would be whispering in the back of his mind, warm and familiar and absolutely unyielding.
"Bluebird. When the bluebird flies, so does your will."
Those words were a trigger planted deep, and Selena was already planning when she'd let the bird take flight.