Chapter 27
THE EXECUTIONER
“Diagnostics at dawn, what could be more exciting than that?” June says, flopping onto the third of the six metal beds that line the back wall. Vance snaps his fingers at her, pointing further down the line with a scowl.
“But that one’s cold!” she whines, folding her arms like a toddler.
“They’re all cold,” I correct, moving toward bay four. The techs crowd around me, connecting electrode pads to my temples and wiring my cuff to the monitor.
“Can we hurry this up?” Ryder rocks back on his heels, hands tucked in his pockets. “It’s freezing in here.”
June cackles. “Says the one in a giant coat.”
“Enough.” Vance cuts her off. “We have places to be.”
Mister M strides in, pacing down the line as he recounts the same dry speech he always gives. “Clean diagnostics breed stability. Composure under stress is one of the most important skills one could wield. Stable girls are grateful for their chance to be here.” He nods to the techs. “Proceed.”
A female tech taps my shoulder. “Eyes forward.” I barely have time to obey before the first shockwave crashes through me.
Colors pulse behind my eyes in a familiar pattern.
White. Red. Green. Blue. Repeat. Always that order.
Always six times. When the gift of sight returns to me, I’m acutely aware of pod 5 filing in.
An oddity, considering we’re always paired with pod 8 for diagnostics.
Mister K’s girls are younger than us. Louder.
Always ready to pick fights with each other.
Two are missing from the last time I saw them.
The little redhead who was always crying, and the freckled girl who tripped June in the hall last month.
Something strange in my stomach twists at the thought. Are they in “specialized reviews” too?
I’ve never considered where girls who get flagged go. You’d think they’d be sent home, but if our pasts are dreadful enough that we need to forget them, would we even be wanted back home? I catalogue the thought for later, unsure of who I could ask without sounding too curious.
I draw my gaze back to Mister K’s girls.
Three of them drop into their bays without a word, wrists up.
The fourth lags. She’s the smallest, with curly brown hair that usually bounces around her shoulders when she walks.
There’s nothing bouncy about her today. She drags her feet, inching forward as a pod enforcer with a ridged scar across his cheek shoves her along.
Another wave pulls me under. I suck in a deep breath, imagining my emotions in a tunnel like they taught us—long tunnels, pulling the feelings deeper and deeper until they can be buried in the dirt.
Minutes pass. More sensations. The taste of iron.
A buzzer booms from across the room. I pry my eyes open to find the small girl shaking, her cuff alternating from red to orange like a flame. Mister K is pacing, arguing with one of the techs.
“Do not call him. Don’t you dare—”
Brielle gasps loudly beside me. “What’s happening?”
“Eyes forward,” the tech repeats. I exhale nervously, but obey. Images flood my vision next. Birds. Sky. Glass. Ballroom. Fire. Blood. It’s always been the same images, sometimes distorted or out of order, but never changing. The door swings open just as the last one fades.
Mister V slips urgently through the door. His ice-blue eyes lock on me for a moment, then cut away. He moves toward the panicking girl, gaze fixed on the monitor. She’s shaking harder now, tremors casting jagged spikes on every monitor.
“The exam will reset,” Mister V orders. “Focus.”
“I can’t,” she cries. The test can’t even reset before the alarms shriek again. She reaches for her mentor, who’s pretending not to see her.
“Control it,” Mister V snaps, sharp. “You’re fine. Breathe.”
The cuff shrieks, flaring red. She’s hyperventilating now, wrists catching on the restraints with every motion. The whole bay rattles. One of the monitors cracks along the edges.
“She’s going to get herself flagged.” Brielle’s whisper ripples through the chaos.
Panic spreads like a current through my veins. My vision tunnels. Stop looking. Breathe. Focus.
She screams again, loud enough that even the lights overhead stutter, throwing us into darkness once. Twice. Every sound echoes off the tile in waves. Pressure builds in my ribs, too sharp to ignore. I can’t watch what happens next.
“Stop!” I blurt before I can think. “You’re scaring her—just stop!
” The techs freeze for half a second; that’s all it takes for my own pulse to trip dangerously.
An electrode pad tears loose from my temple as I jerk forward.
The shock catches me mid-breath; the world flashes white as pain sears across my skin. My cuff screams yellow.
The alarms surge again. It takes me a heartbeat too long to realize they aren’t for her anymore. Sounds dig into my chest, biting like teeth.
“214!” someone barks.
Mister V’s head whips toward me. “Stand down!”
Shock and fear rip through me like static fire. Monitors flash, everything grows unbearably hot. The strap across my chest tightens with each breath. The light on my cuff pulses faster. Yellow. Orange. Brighter. Hotter. Heat slicks down my spine. I can’t think straight. I can’t breathe. I can’t—
“For god’s sake,” Mister M snaps, cutting across the noise as he rushes forward. “Eyes forward, 214.” He plants himself beside my bay, voice clipped. “Don’t move.” Restraint rolls off his every syllable. His hand hovers near my wrist, not quite touching. Every muscle in his arm tenses.
“You’re fine,” he says, too fast. “You’re fine, do you hear me? Breathe. Now.”
I have to get it together. I can’t get flagged. Not here, not now. I force a single, stuttering inhale. Then another that catches halfway. The cuff flickers orange, pulsing in warning.
“Again,” he orders sharply, because command is the only language he speaks.
I do. Inhale. Exhale. Match the rhythm. Survive the emotion; survive the day. The monitor steadies. The color shifts from yellow to green. Only then does Mister M exhale.
I still feel like I’m drowning.
“Control re-established,” a tech announces.
Mister V turns back to the girl. She’s not screaming anymore; her breath comes in ragged pulls as she fights the restraints, every motion labored.
“Run it again,” her mentor says, voice taut. “She was just nervous, if you—”
“I can’t.”
“She’s not unstable! You can’t just—”
“It’s not my choice.” Mister V presses two fingers to his temple, then waves his hand. Two black-clad enforcers stride forward and take the girl by the arms, hauling her upright in one efficient motion.
“I’m sorry!” She’s shouting now. “I’ll do better. Please!”
She reaches for her mentor, still begging; Mister K turns away, eyes shut tight, fists clenched.
The enforcers wrestle her out, leaving Mister V standing eerily over an empty bay, stylus hovering still over his tablet.
He shakes his head as if reentering his skin, and exhales through his nose. “Carry on.”
The machines whir back to life, and the cycle continues. Mister M smooths his jacket and falls back to his spot like nothing happened. But—just for a moment—I swear I see his fingers twitch against his sleeve.
The rest of diagnostics is silent. I keep my eyes on the wall until the tests end, pretending everything’s fine. If I can’t hear the bad thoughts, they aren’t there. I’m still a good girl. I’m still going to graduate. I’m going to be fine.
Just fine.
When the monitors chime with completion, I thank the techs and wait to be dismissed. Instead, Mister M’s shadow falls over my bay.
“You’re coming with me.” He doesn’t wait for a response. His hand closes around my upper arm, firm enough to make it clear this isn’t optional. The other girls watch on with wide eyes.
“Why?” I whisper, not really wanting the answer.
“Doctor Noxen wants a closer look,” he says, voice smoothed into professionalism that doesn’t quite hide the jagged edge beneath. “We can’t have another…disruption.”
I almost ask what that means, but his grip tightens just enough to answer.
“She’s yours,” Mister M says as he shoves Noxen’s office door open. The words hit harder than his grip as he drags me across the threshold. I fight the tremor in my hands and fail miserably.
Doctor Noxen glances up. “Unstable?”
“Momentary lapse,” Mister M replies. “Fix it.”
Their eyes meet, two predators exchanging a problem.
Unfortunately, I’m the problem.
“Sit,” Noxen says, still not looking at me. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”
Mister M releases my arm harshly, slamming the door behind him.
I cringe, rubbing the spot where his fingers burrowed into my skin.
Left with no other choice, I lower myself into the chair, fighting to ignore the overpowering scent of citrus-coated metal.
The restraints click shut on their own, just tight enough to serve as a reminder.
I keep my eyes on the floor until Noxen’s form drifts into view.
“Elevated pulse, residual tremors, minor burns from feedback,” he murmurs, scrolling through his tablet. “And of course, a tendency toward dramatics.”
“I wasn’t—”
“No need,” he interrupts, gesturing to the monitors overhead. “The data speaks.”
He nods to a tech wielding syringes like blades.
My arm is prepped and prodded without ceremony.
Blood vials fill in slow, rhythmic pulls, dark and steady.
I don’t ask what they’re testing for; I’m not sure I want to know.
I count them because counting is the only thing I can control. Five, all filled to the brim.
Don’t think about the girl. Don’t think about the heat. Don’t think about the fact that everything is going wrong and all you can do is sit here and count.
“I had a dream,” I blurt, desperate to escape my thoughts. Regret shivers down my spine, but relief burns my lungs. One less secret.
Doctor Noxen looks up from his tablet, polite interest painted across his face. “We discourage preoccupying dreams,” he says. I ignore it.
“It was a hallway. White walls. Medical. I was wearing red, I think. There was someone with me.”
“Vivid imaginations aren’t uncommon among girls with your sedation resistance," he says calmly, but his face flashes with—interest? It’s gone before I can fully identify it. “Your neural activity spikes when stimulated by poor resting habits. It’s concerning, but nothing we can’t correct.”
Nerves bubble in my chest. “But it was—”
“Stable girls don’t dream,” Noxen interrupts. Which feels a little redundant, considering we aren’t supposed to dream at all, stable or otherwise. He taps his stylus once. A nervous tic, or a warning. “I’ll check the ratios again. Once the dosage is balanced, it will subside.”
I’m not satisfied. My mouth opens again without permission. “I asked the person with me to not remember me in red.”
Doctor Noxen folds his hands, unmoved. “Where are you going with this, 214?”
“Was I ever in that hallway?”
He tilts his head. “You’ve been in many hallways.”
“That one felt real.”
“Real and true are not the same,” he replies. “You would be foolish to believe that dreams are anything more than nonsense.”
“It didn’t feel like nonsense.”
“Hm.” Noxen narrows his eyes. “Perhaps the dosage isn’t the problem after all.”
My heart skips. “Then what is?”
“You.”
I fight the urge to throw up and collapse right here and now.
Thankfully, I don’t get the chance.
Doctor Noxen dismisses me with a flick of his stylus. “You may return to your pod.” I’m almost at the door when he adds, “And 214—do try not to make a scene next time. This visit could have gone very…differently if your mentor hadn’t stepped in.”
I force the door open and slip into the hall, wiping my damp palms on my skirt. Mister M is waiting in the corridor, back against the wall, eyes scanning his tablet like he’d rather be anywhere else.
“He said you’re fine. That’s a relief.” His words sound like praise until I hear the tremor underneath. He masks it fast, face twisting into something darker, crueler. It fits his face far better than concern ever could.
“You scared them,” he adds, quieter now. “You scared me.”
His smile doesn’t match the tone; it’s polished to oblivion, empty in all the ways that matter. He steps closer, close enough that I can feel the tension radiating off him.
“Don’t do that again.” The warning isn’t loud, but it vibrates through me.
I hesitate.
His face darkens further. “Do you hear me? You don’t get to make scenes.
You don’t get to embarrass me—and you certainly don’t get to go around getting yourself flagged.
” He grabs my arm, yanking me until our chests are almost touching.
Any remnants of concern are buried beneath his unwavering need to terrify me. “Do you understand?”
I nod meekly, planting my feet so he can’t trip me.
“Say it.”
“I understand.” It sounds like I’m choking, but he nods like it’s close enough.
“Good.” He straightens, smoothing the crease of his sleeve as if nothing happened.
“You’re due in lectures. Keep your posture.
Eyes forward.” He walks ahead before I can answer.
I try to follow, but my heel catches on an uneven seam in the tile.
I gasp on instinct, arms jerking as I fight for my balance.
Mister M turns, face hard as stone. “God, 214.” He grabs my arm again, dragging me down the hall with more strength than a man like him should wield. “Stop shaking. You’re safe.”
I stumble into step beside him, trying to remember when I stopped believing that.