The Glass Cage

The penthouse was a testament to Silas’s paranoia. It occupied the top floor of a brutalist concrete building in the city center. The windows were bulletproof glass. The elevator required a retinal scan. It was beautiful, cold, and utterly silent.

Iris sat on the white leather sofa, watching the rain streak the glass. It had been two days. Two days of lockdown. Silas hadn't come home; he was sleeping at the precinct, hunting the killer.

She felt like a bird in a gilded cage.

*The ivy cannot grow in the shadow of the rock.*

The note haunted her. Was the killer right? Was she withering here? She loved Silas. She had loved him since the academy, when he was the scary upperclassman who walked her to her car every night without saying a word. When her father, the Police Commissioner, suggested the marriage for her protection after a cartel threat, she had agreed instantly.

But three years later, they were strangers who shared a zip code.

The elevator chimed.

Silas walked in. He looked exhausted. His shirt was rumpled, his eyes red-rimmed. He carried a distinct scent of ozone and stale coffee.

He froze when he saw her sitting in the dark.

"Why aren't the lights on?" he asked, tossing his keys on the counter.

"I like the rain," Iris said. She stood up. "Did you catch him?"

"No. He killed again. Officer Miller’s wife. Found her in a park, holding hydrangeas." Silas ran a hand over his face. "Miller was a cheater. The killer knew it."

He walked to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water. "You're safe here. I’ve doubled the detail downstairs."

"I don't want to be safe, Silas," Iris said, her voice trembling. "I want to be useful. I analyzed the soil from the orchids before you threw them away. I have a lead."

"I told you to stay off the case."

"Why?" Iris shouted. The sound shocked them both. Iris never shouted. "Because I'm incompetent? Because I'm weak?"

Silas turned slowly. He crushed the plastic water bottle in his hand.

"Because you are the target, Iris."

"I can handle myself! I’m a trained officer!"

"You are a botanist!" Silas roared. He closed the distance between them in two strides. "You analyze pollen! You don't hunt monsters!"

"I am living with one!"

The silence that followed was deafening.

Silas flinched. It was a microscopic movement, but Iris saw it. The hurt flashed in his eyes, raw and gaping, before the wall slammed back down.

"Is that what you think?" he asked quietly. "That I'm a monster?"

"You act like one," Iris cried, tears spilling over. "You lock me up. You don't speak to me. You don't touch me. We’ve been married three years, Silas, and I don't even know if you like me! I’m just a duty to you. A box to check."

Silas stared at her. His chest heaved.

"A duty?" he laughed, a dark, bitter sound. "You think this is duty?"

He reached out. His hand hovered near her face, trembling slightly. Then, as if he couldn't stop himself, he gripped her chin. His thumb brushed her lip. The touch was electric, scorching.

"I don't touch you because I can't stop," he rasped. "I don't speak to you because everything I want to say would scare you away."

Iris froze. "Silas?"

"I am possessive, Iris," he confessed, the words tearing out of him. "I am jealous. I am violent. I look at you and I want to lock you in this tower and never let the world see you because I’m terrified someone will realize how perfect you are and take you away."

He leaned his forehead against hers. "I am a monster. But I am your monster. And I keep my distance because I don't want to crush you."

Iris’s heart stopped, then started again at double speed. *Unrequited?* It wasn't unrequited. It was overwhelming.

"You wouldn't crush me," she whispered, reaching up to touch his wrist. "I’m stronger than I look."

Silas closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. For a moment, the tension broke. They were just a man and a woman, standing on the edge of a precipice.

Then, Iris’s phone buzzed on the table.

She pulled back. Silas let her go, his eyes instantly shifting back to alert mode.

Iris picked up the phone. It was a text from an unknown number.

*IMAGE ATTACHED.*

It was a photo of Silas, taken through the window of the penthouse just now. The crosshairs of a scope were superimposed over his head.

*TEXT: I see the shadow is back. Don't worry, little flower. The Gardener is coming to prune.*

"Silas," Iris whispered, showing him the phone.

Silas looked at the image. "Get down."

He tackled her onto the sofa just as the window shattered.