Barnett always made me feel inexplicably fearful—his dark, obscure affection, the sudden embraces, and the endless, ornate schemes of manipulation... His presence was like a shadow that clung too close, suffocating yet impossible to shake off. This fear wasn't as direct as my fear of Rui Jones, but rather laced with an indescribable awkwardness. It was the kind of unease that settled in the pit of my stomach, gnawing at me even when he wasn't nearby.
Truth be told, he had never harmed me. If anything, he was even tender toward me. But that tenderness felt like a cage, gilded and ornate, but a cage nonetheless. I despised that tenderness. It wasn't real—just another layer of his games.
