Chapter 15
Seph
Marr led me down a narrow staircase into what looked like a basement.
Except basements weren’t supposed to look like this.
Cold, sterile light washed over gleaming metal counters, glass monitors, humming machines lined in perfect rows. It smelled like disinfectant and something sharper—something chemical—like a hospital that had forgotten how to care for people.
A lab.
Of course he had a lab.
We walked down a long corridor flanked by small square windows reinforced with iron mesh. I peered into the first one as we passed.
A man stood inside.
No—slammed inside.
He repeatedly bashed his forehead into the padded wall, humming a strange, tuneless song under his breath. With every hit, claws burst from his fingertips, then retracted, then burst again—scratching long ragged lines into the padding.
My stomach turned.
“What the hell is this?” my voice came out thin.
“Ward A,” Marr said pleasantly, as if giving a campus tour. “Some refer to it as the Chaos Wing. I find that term a touch dramatic.”
I didn’t.
We moved to the next window.
A girl—maybe 25—sat cross-legged on the floor, clutching a stuffed rabbit to her chest. Her hair hung in long, filthy ropes that hid most of her face. She rocked back and forth, whispering to herself.
“This is Amelia Ambrose.”
The name clicked—like a stone falling into place.
I stared at her.
“She used water magic to drown all three of her children while they were sleeping,” Marr continued, tone almost academic.
A cold shiver sliced down my spine.
That girl… that tiny, shaking girl…
“No,” I whispered. “She looks… she looks like a kid.”
“Magic—as you may eventually learn—doesn’t discriminate by age. Or morality.” Marr folded his hands behind his back, posture crisp. “Those with unstable Dark leanings become… dangerous.”
His gaze flicked to me at that word.
Dark.
I swallowed and kept walking, because the alternative was collapsing.
We passed cell after cell—each one housing someone worse than the last. A man muttering equations while peeling strips of skin from his forearms. A woman with smoke leaking from her eyes.
A boy no older than thirteen carving symbols into the wall with his fingernails, whispering, “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy,” over and over.
Every step felt like a descent.
Every step felt like a warning.
When Marr finally stopped, it was in front of a heavy reinforced door.
“Your evaluation will take place in here,” he said lightly. “Nothing strenuous. Routine testing.”
“Are you going to lock me in one of those rooms?” I asked quietly.
He laughed. “Oh no dear, absolutely not. Those rooms are only for the most violent offenders – with the most uncontrollable energy. We take them in - we help them control their magic. This place – it may seem scary, but all we really want is to bring order to the world. Is that so wrong?”
I shifted uncomfortably on the chair across the room. “So what do you want from me?”
“You know your father and I go way back.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“We were academics together, of course. We worked on the Aetheric Polarity Assessment together, to make it the guiding tool it is today.”
“That test is bullshit,” I snapped before I could stop myself.
Marr merely tilted his head, intrigued. “And why would you say that?”
“Because it brands people,” I said. “Judges them for something they can’t control.”
“You believe Dark and Light should be equal?” he asked, voice smooth, mild… dangerous. “That the Light shouldn’t hold power?”
“I think power should be shared with the light and the dark. No one is better than anyone else.”
My throat tightened.
He was waiting—listening—for the wrong answer.
“Those,” he said softly, “are dangerous words, even within these walls.”
I raised my chin.
I refused to back down.
That test ruined my entire life. I would never pretend to support it.
I braced for anger—punishment—something.
But Marr didn’t get angry.
He smiled.
Slow. Clinical.
Like he had just confirmed a hypothesis he’d been waiting years to test.
“You are a fascinating creature, Miss Quinn,” he murmured, voice dripping with delight. “I look forward to our time together. Very much.”
Ice crawled through my veins.
“It’s only Wednesday,” I blurted as he moved toward the counter. “I agreed to your tests on Fridays.”
“Wednesday, Friday…” He waved a hand lazily. “They’re just days, aren’t they?”
My heartbeat clawed at my ribs.
He reached for something on the tray.
A needle.
“No.” The word leaked out of me, thin and helpless. My body stilled, conditioned from years of abuse to obey.
“I only need a little blood today, and maybe one or two samples.” Marr said gently, as if speaking to a frightened child. “Nothing to worry about.”
I stood—or tried to.
He pressed a button beneath the counter.
CLACK.
Metal restraints snapped over my wrists, pinning my hands to the arms of the chair.
“NO!” I yanked, but the cuffs didn’t budge. Panic spiked hard and fast.
“Calm yourself,” he said lightly. “This is standard procedure.”
He pushed up my sleeve.
I couldn’t breathe.
“Marr—stop—please don’t—”
“This will only hurt a moment.”
He didn’t give me time to scream.
The needle punched into my vein.
White-hot pain shot up my arm—
—and the room tilted, dissolving into a cold, suffocating blur.
I didn’t even get the chance to cry.