One Week Later.
Black suited me.
I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the Ivory Tower, smoothing the fabric of my dress. It was black silk, high-necked, long-sleeved, and fitted like a blade. I wore no jewelry. No pearls. Just the diamond engagement ring Cassian had given me—the symbol of my "captivity" that had become my badge of honor.
"You look like you're going to a funeral," Cassian said from the doorway.
"I am," I replied, turning to face him. "The funeral of the girl I used to be."
Cassian walked over. He looked fully recovered, though I knew the scar on his side was still pink and tender. He wore a black suit, a black shirt, and no tie. He looked like the Grim Reaper's favorite soldier.
He reached out, straightening my collar.
"Are you ready for this?" he asked. "Once we walk into that room, there is no going back. We become part of the machine."
