Chapter 19 | Anna
They took me from the observation room and put me back into the wheelchair. But instead of returning me to the room I was in before, this one was different. This room was as sterile as the others. White walls. Bed. Chair. Small bathroom. No windows.
Like time and space moved differently here. Like they didn’t want me to know if it was day or night. Sunny or cloudy. Spring or summer. Contained. Isolated. Sensory deprivation at its finest.
No clothes. They were keeping me in his godforsaken hospital gown. Stripped of my dignity.
I expected restraints. There were none.
The guards didn’t touch me. They kept their distance.
And for a moment, I thought I heard the whispers.
She’s dangerous now.
They weren’t afraid of me before. They were afraid of me now.
They locked me in the room alone. And I realized that I was in a holding pattern. Waiting for the next test.
I sat on the edge of the bed like I did the bench. Legs crossed in front of me. Hands on knees. I tuned into myself. Listening. My breath was steady. My pulse was even. My heartbeat calm. There was some pain, yes, but I compartmentalized that. Pushed it aside. It didn’t matter.
My thoughts were different. Sorted. Emotions, too. Like I could still reach for the fear, the anger, but it didn’t come to me like it did before. It came to me clean. Distant. Like I could pick it up whenever I needed it. Wield it like a weapon.
They didn’t take that part of me. They moved it.
I closed my eyes, reaching for that dream walker part of me I hadn’t used in months. It had gone quiet after the Ark. Dormant, but never gone.
I’d always been able to reach it when I needed it.
Not this time.
I tried anyway.
Once, I could find Kincade in those shadowed dream walks without effort. I didn’t have to search. I sensed him. He came to me.
Now, when I reached out, there was only the faintest echo of something familiar. A distortion. Like pressing my hand to glass I hadn’t known was there.
I couldn’t push through the veil. Couldn’t lock on.
Something was blocking me.
Or—more frightening—something had been threaded into the space where my power lived.
Maybe he couldn’t reach me either. I knew he could slip into my thoughts whenever he wanted. I knew his voice by instinct alone.
But there was nothing.
No presence. No connection.
I couldn’t reach him. He couldn’t reach me.
The thought settled cold and heavy in my chest.
Had whatever they put inside my head disrupted the dream walk itself?
The door came open. Sebastian stood framed in the doorway peering at me with something I couldn’t read. Curiosity? Interest? Pleasure?
Yes, that was it. He looked pleased.
I remained where I was on the bed. Hands on knees. Back straight. Eyes forward. He wanted me to respond to him. He wasn’t going to get it.
“You adapted quickly,” he said. “It was impressive.”
“Isn’t that what you wanted?” I asked.
His mouth curved faintly. “You are a wonder, Miss Walker.”
He stepped into the room and closed the door. He clasped his hands behind his back and walked toward me. A predatory stance. I remained where I was, refusing to give him one inch.
I needed him to talk. I needed information. So, I would sit here and wait for him to hand it to me without asking.
“I understand from previous experiments most people panic after they wake up,” he said, talking about it as though he simply referred to the day’s weather report. “You didn’t.”
His gaze cut to mine as he waited.
“I assessed the threat, then responded.”
Thinking about it now, it didn’t feel like me. It felt borrowed. As if my body had moved before my mind gave permission. A switch flipped at the threat and I answered it. They’d planted that switch in my head.
Again, that faint smile. “Yes, you did, didn’t you?”
He circled the room, watched my eyes track his movements without turning my head. I noted it. I noted that he noted it.
“It was something to behold. The way you moved. Without hesitation. Without thought,” he said.
I remained silent.
“I’m told your mother, though… she was different.”
A wild spurt of anger shifted through me.
“Took her longer to acclimate, but then the surgery was different from yours. More invasive.”
Something dark twisted inside my chest. I hated that he brought up my mother. That was sacred ground.
But instead of lashing out, I said, “How long did it take her?”
Sebastian stopped, then turned to face me. “You’re curious. Interesting.”
“How long,” I repeated, my voice flat.
He liked that I was unemotional.
“A few weeks,” he said. “You? Hours.”
I kept my face impassive. No reaction. That, too, impressed him.
“You altered me,” I said.
“We refined you.” Pride swelled in his voice.
He said this like it was something to be celebrated. A victory. Like I was the prize. He stepped closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne. Clean. Expensive. Unnecessary.
“You still feel,” he said. “That’s important. We didn’t want a blunt instrument. We wanted a precise one.”
My fingers curled on my knees. He noticed.
“But now,” he continued, “you won’t hesitate when it counts.”
“And when does it count?” I asked, my gaze flicking up at him.
Sebastian smiled. “When we tell you.”
I held his gaze. Let my face remain neutral. Let my pulse stay even. I felt the truth of it settle into place.
“You expect me to cooperate,” I said.
“I expect you to function,” he replied.
“And if I don’t?”
Sebastian tilted his head, studying me with open curiosity.
“You already did,” he said. “When we tested you. You didn’t resist when it mattered.”
I considered that.
Then said, carefully, “You tested my speed. Not my loyalty.”
Amusement flickered in his eyes. “Well,” he said after a moment, “one thing at a time.”
He turned toward the door, already satisfied.
“We’ll give you some time to rest,” he added.
The door opened. Before he stepped through, he glanced back at me.
“Oh, and Anna?” he said pleasantly.
I looked up.
“There’s no need to resist. You’re here for good.”
Rage flickered. Hot. Bright. Then filed itself away in the place where my emotions now lived. Accessible. Controlled. Distant.
The door closed behind him. I sat there long after he was gone, my hands folded neatly in my lap. He thought I’d learned obedience.
What I’d learned was timing.
And I was going to use that to my advantage.
Time passed. Minutes. Could’ve been hours. The room had no windows. No clock. Nothing but waiting.
The door opened.
Not Sebastian this time. Not the doctor. The nurse. The same one who’d bandaged my cheek hours ago. Young. Blue eyes wary—she’d removed her mask now.
She carried a tray. Fresh bandages. Antiseptic.
“I need to check the wound,” she said. Her voice was quiet. Careful. “Make sure it’s healing like it should.”
I remained on the bed. Hands on knees. Watching her approach.
She was nervous. I could see it in the way she held the tray. The way she wouldn’t meet my eyes.
She saw what I did in that observation room. She knew I was dangerous now. Hell, I knew I was dangerous now.
She set the tray on the small table beside the bed. Pulled on fresh gloves.
“This might sting,” she warned.
She peeled away the bandage. The air hit the wound, and I sucked in a breath. Not from pain. From the sudden awareness of it. The heat. The swelling. She cleaned it with antiseptic. Efficient. Gentle. Applied fresh ointment. New gauze.
“There,” she said. She reached for my wrist. “I need to check your vitals.”
Her fingers closed around my pulse point.
The world sharpened.
Threat. Proximity. Respond.
I moved before thought caught up.
My hand locked around her wrist. Twisted. She gasped—more surprise than pain.
I was already on my feet. Had her turned, arm bent behind her back at an angle that would dislocate if I pushed more.
The nurse struggled. Not much. Enough.
Her elbow came up—panicked, defensive—and caught my face.
The same cheek. The same spot.
Fresh pain exploded. The carefully dressed wound tearing open.
I felt it. Registered it. Filed it away.
But my hands didn’t release.
“Please—” the nurse choked out.
The word cut through the programming. I froze.
What am I doing?
I released her. Stumbled back. My cheek was wet. Warm. Blood dripping down my jaw from the reopened wound.
She scrambled for the door. Hit the panic button on the wall.
“I’m sorry—” I started.
But she was already gone. And alarms were already screaming.
I pressed my hand to my face. Felt the torn bandage. The blood. She’d cleaned it. I’d undone it in seconds.
Three guards entered. Armed. One grabbed my arms, wrenched them behind my back. The programming surged again. I could break the hold. I knew how. The exact pressure point, the precise angle—
No. Stop. Don’t.
“Sedate her,” someone said.
A sharp sting in my neck. Cold spread through my veins. I tasted blood. From my cheek. Dripping into my mouth.
They were right. I was a weapon.
It was the last thing I thought before darkness took me.