I stared all the way to the elevator like someone waking from a thousand-year sleep—teaching my eyes what light looked like. Water dripped off my hair, soaking my shoulders with cold water.
When the floor number lit up, I froze. Blinked. My heart kicked. Ashur. They were taking me to Ashur.
Patrick watched in silence, a butcher leading a lamb. Inside I laughed at his ugly face—he had no idea he was walking me straight toward the room where he'd die.
Off the lift, the guards dragged me down the hall to a white door. Through a security shield, into the lab, and finally the "Triangle Room." Metal doors slid apart. My breath stuttered; my body turned to ice.
And there he was—inside a glass cell, seated on a chair, eyes locked on the doctor.
The doctor, dressed head-to-toe in spotless white like he had a date, turned when he saw me. Hair slicked to one side, jaw freshly shaved. He clapped once, smiling. "At last!"
I stared back, cold, while counting: three guards in the room—two on me—plus Patrick and the doctor. Didn't look impossible.
The doctor stepped close. "You're even prettier than last time. Prison seems to agree with you." His hand clamped my arm—like a hot brand on skin. He shoved me closer to the cube and flung me down. My knees smacked the floor. I straightened, ignoring the pain, hair curtaining my face.
"This is the little spy I told you about." He bent, fisted my hair, yanked my head up.
Ashur stared straight into me—eyes dark, glacial, utterly blank. Not a flicker of emotion. Just… watching.
The doctor yanked my hair at the roots and murmured,
"Don't let that pretty face fool you—she wriggled in here like a filthy rat."
He tugged harder, pressed his nose to my cheek, inhaled deep. Pain and disgust knotted my features; I panted like a wounded animal.
"This little rat," he whispered, eyes flicking to Ashur, "thinks she can just stroll in and break you out."
I snapped, "No, you're the cowardly rat. I stepped into your sewer because you never had the guts to crawl out of it."
He threw his head back and barked a laugh, fingers still tangled in my hair. My hands balled into fists behind my back, chest heaving with fury. Then his gaze snapped to mine, a feral light sparking there.
"Tonight," he said softly, "I'm having them serve me your tongue for dinner."
He smashed my head against the glass. Blackness flashed. I slumped sideways, vision swimming until Ashur sharpened in front of me—still on his chair, watching without a flicker of emotion.
A guard hauled me onto my knees. Ashur's gaze tracked the blood dripping from my nose.
The doctor smirked, hands in his pockets.
"Breaking into our headquarters to free him?" he said, still staring at Ashur. "Hilarious."
He turned to me, eyes narrowing. "Tell me, Viona—tell both of us—how you planned to drag him out of a multistory fortress crammed with cameras, shields, and Red Ward guards."
Patrick murmured something in his ear. The doctor nodded, clapped once. "Well, well. I've got bigger thrills booked today, so let's wrap this up."