Chapter 49
GOING DOWN
Another day, another sterile white hallway.
Colt strolls beside me, too casual to be pulling me out of drills for a meeting with Doctor Carr.
And yet, he’s whistling a listless tune like we’re traipsing through the garden.
He won’t give me details; I doubt he even has any to give.
“Enforcers aren’t privy to subject intel.
They’re hardly even privy to the breakfast menu,” he had told me when I pressed.
There are no containment cuffs today. No sedative or scratchy diagnostics shift to wear. Plus, Colt’s alone. It should make me feel relaxed. Key word: should. I just can’t get past the fact it can’t be a coincidence that Carr wants to see me two days after my monumental freakout.
“For real though, where are we going?” I ask for the eighth time. He keeps his eyes forward, but I know he heard me.
"You’re nosy," he mutters, then sighs. "It’s just a meeting. Nothing weird, okay?" He’s lying through his teeth and he knows it. He grips the ID card on his belt tight, which cements it further. Something is going down.
I glance sideways at him. “You’re not a great liar.”
He cracks a grin. “Yeah, well. You’re not great at staying out of trouble, so I guess we’re even.” My lip curls involuntarily at that. We round another corner, winding further down the unfamiliar halls. He’s walking slower now—stalling without realizing it.
“Should I be nervous?” I ask, pretending it’s a joke.
He lifts a brow. “You’re always nervous.”
“Not always.”
Colt snorts. “You bit your spoon during breakfast.”
“That was unrelated,” I mutter.
“Mm. Sure.” He smirks. I try to smile, but it doesn’t stick. A seriousness settles over the space, and he finally brings his gaze to mine.
“Hey. You’re not in trouble, all right? Nobody’s dragging you to a lab this time.”
“This time,” I echo.
He winces. “Bad phrasing, sorry.” He changes the subject. “You ever been in this wing?” I shake my head. He gestures around the barren hall. “It’s nicer. They’ve got padded floors. You may even get an upholstered chair.”
“Are you trying to reassure or warn me?”
“Little of both.” He gives me a half shrug, motioning to the right.
We stop outside a grey door. No marking beyond a single red light blinking above the frame. I’m the last one here, if the loud, arguing voices are any indication.
"Colt—"
He squeezes my hand. “Just do what you always do. Smile. Breathe. Don’t give them a reason to call me in. It would really suck to drag you out.” He flashes me an almost-smile before tapping his ID on the scanner. I cross the threshold into the chaos as he takes his post outside.
The air in this small conference room is frigid, both in temperature and mood.
I catch what must be the tail end of an argument as I step in.
Doctor Carr is seated at the far end, tapping his pen against the table like a metronome.
V is pacing on the left, a file crushed in his hand. Mine, I assume.
“She’s not cleared for this.” V’s snaps, folding his arms.
Carr doesn’t even flinch. “Oh? But you approved the metrics yourself.”
“Not for a custom trial,” V says. “That wasn’t in the documentation.”
“I sent the addendum last night.”
“You buried it in the fine print.” V sounds exasperated, but I don’t miss the twinge of guilt that burns the edge of his words.
Maverick scoffs from the far side of the room. “So read better.”
“Did you even read the addendum, Ashford?” V snaps toward Maverick, who cocks his head for a moment, like it had never occurred to him. A sickly-sweet smile spreads to the edges of his lips.
“Unlike you,” he says, words pointed. “I don’t have time to play analyst all day.” Maverick narrows his eyes. “Some of us actually have girls to mentor.”
“Yikes” doesn’t even begin to cover it.
I contemplate whether I should slip back into the hallway and make a run for it. V slams his palm against the table.
“Mentoring girls into oblivion doesn’t make you qualified.” He’s seething now, knuckles white against the crumpling folder.
Maverick tilts his head. “Says the ghost they pulled out of retirement.”
“Because someone had to clean up after you.”
“You’re real smug,” Maverick says, “for someone whose last room got scrapped.”
V glances at him, eyes icing over. “And yet here I am. Still working while you wait for your family name to open doors you never earned.”
“Working? Yeah right,” Maverick spits, folding his arms tight. “All you do is lurk, sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
V looks like he might explode. Then he smiles, which is somehow worse. “When the board talks about legacy, they don’t mean yours. You’re a placeholder until the next Ashford can spell their own name.”
“You wouldn’t know a thing about—”
“Boys, enough.” Carr raises a hand like he’s swatting flies, voice flickering with restrained pleasure. “One of you is under review, and the other’s on probation. If you’re done proving why, I’d like to salvage what’s left of your reputations.”
It only now occurs to me that I’ve stepped into a room full of vultures. It’s like I’m in the middle of a very polite war. Death threats dipped in syrup being hurled both ways while Carr watches on in amusement. I get the feeling this isn’t the first time they’ve done this.
Maybe not even the hundredth.
“What’s all this?” I ask before one of them has the chance to strike. Three sets of eyes are on me in an instant.
Carr turns to me with that slow, unsettling smile.
“A calibration trial,” he starts. “Customized to your development. You’ll be observed, of course, but it’s nothing you haven’t handled before.
” My stomach coils. I’m used to doctors talking me in circles and calling it medicine.
Used to being told nothing more than what’s “necessary.” But this doesn’t sound great.
V speaks quietly. “She hasn’t had prep. Not for this.”
“She doesn’t need prep,” Maverick says, stepping closer to me. His jaw ticks. “She can handle it, can’t you, little star?”
I glance between them, patience already wearing thin on this dogfight. I turn to Carr. “What kind of trial?”
Carr waves a hand like it’s unimportant. “Emotional stimuli, memory association, standard measures. You’ll follow instructions, and we’ll log your response rate.” He says it like it’s normal. But something about the way V is standing—sharp, like glass under pressure—tells me it’s anything but.
“You said this is for development. What happens if I fail?”
“You won’t,” Maverick says instantly, glancing toward Carr. “He wouldn’t risk another failure on his record.”
“You forget yourself, Ashford,” Carr murmurs.
“Your family’s reach ends at that door. In here, you answer to me.
” Carr spares a quick glance at both of them before settling on V.
“Enough wasting time. All involved parties have signed the procedure. It will continue as scheduled.” V opens his mouth in protest, but Carr’s faster, turning to me with stiff precision.
“Go on,” Carr says, flashing me a clinical set of white teeth. He gestures toward the adjoining room. “We’ll start when you’re ready.”