Avery was shoved into a car. The door slammed shut behind her.

The cabin was dark. Dominic sat across from her.

Before she could catch her breath, he spoke.

"Your daughter is with me."

Avery's fists clenched. "What did you say?"

"Wenger's men grabbed her. I intercepted them." Dominic's voice was flat. "She's fine."

She stared at him. Something surged up in her chest.

She lunged. Her fists hit his shoulder. Once. Twice. Dominic didn't move. He took the hits.

When she swung the third punch, he shot his hand up and caught both her wrists. He twisted them and pinned them against the seat back.

Avery's back hit the seat. She was stuck.

She struggled. Her wrists twisted in his grip. His fingers tightened. His knuckles ground against her bones. She sucked in a breath.

"Enough."

She didn't listen. She lifted her knee and drove it toward his stomach.

Dominic shifted sideways. He blocked her knee with his hand and pressed it down. Her leg got trapped between him and the seat. She couldn't move.

"Let me go—"

Avery yanked one hand free. Her nails raked toward his face. He turned his head. Her knuckles grazed his jaw. He grabbed the back of her neck and shoved her down against the seat.

Avery's neck was locked in his grip. She was on her back, looking up.

"Done?" His voice was low, right above her face.

She glared at him, chest heaving.

"You could have just taken her from the start. You didn't have to—"

"Would you have believed me?"

She said nothing.

Dominic let go. Avery fell back into her seat. Red marks circled her wrists. His fingerprints still burned on the side of her neck.

"What's the difference between you and Wenger?" She spat the words out.

Dominic turned to look out the window. He didn't answer.

"I'm bringing my daughter to the villa," she said.

"No."

She blinked. "You said she was safe—"

"Safe doesn't mean she moves in."

"Then I'm not seeing Wenger."

Silence filled the car for a few seconds.

"She can't leave your room," he said finally. "If she shows up in front of me, the deal is off."

"She's six. She won't—"

"She can't leave your room."

Avery stared at him. She knew this was the most he would give.

"Fine."

"Call Wenger. Tell him you're coming."

She picked up her phone. Her thumb hovered over the dial button. "When do I see my daughter?"

"After the call. Forty minutes."

She held his gaze. "You promise."

Dominic didn't answer. He just looked at her.

She made the call. Wenger's voice came through, rougher than usual.

"Avery."

She looked at Dominic. He mouthed speaker.

"I'm coming," she said.

Wenger paused. "Did you give him the shot?"

"Yes."

"Confirmed?"

Avery looked out the window. Six years. She had studied under him for her PhD. Done research. Written papers. He was the one who reached out when she had nothing.

"I watched him go down."

Wenger laughed. A soft sound.

"Good. Come to the warehouse. We'll talk about your daughter."

The line went dead.

"You lied to him." Dominic let out a short breath that was almost a laugh.

"You told me to." She didn't look at him.

The car turned. They were on the road to the warehouse.

"One more thing," Dominic said.

She looked at him.

"Your daughter is already at the villa."

Avery froze. "You said forty minutes—"

"That was for you."

The car stopped in front of the warehouse.

Avery pushed the door open and glanced back. Dominic sat in the shadows. He wasn't getting out.

She walked closer. Wenger sat in a wheelchair. His face was yellow.

"Is he dead?"

"Yes," Avery said.

Wenger stared at her.

"Your right hand," he said. "When you're nervous, you make a fist. You've done it since your first year in my PhD program."

She looked down at her right hand. Her fingers were clenched tight.

"Dorothea must be six now," Wenger said. "November birthday."

Avery's steps faltered.

She had never told Wenger her daughter's birthday.

"You looked into me."

"From the first day you came to me." Wenger coughed. "Why do you think I recommended you to treat Dominic?"

She didn't say anything.

"Dominic isn't dead. You came to buy time."

"You think your brother's medical records, your research, your license. All of it is in my hands?"

Wenger's mouth pulled to the side. It wasn't a smile. His expression was horrible.

"You're wrong. When I die, it all disappears. No one will find it. Not even him."

Avery's fingers loosened. Then clenched again.

"My best student." Wenger looked at her. "You picked the wrong side."

His hand slid off the wheelchair armrest. He pulled a wire.

Avery saw it. When she saw what it was connected to, her legs moved before her brain did.

"Run," Wenger yelled at her.

She turned and ran. Her footsteps echoed through the warehouse.

An explosion ripped through the air behind her. The shockwave hit her back. It threw her forward several steps. She crashed into the warehouse's metal door and squeezed through the gap, falling to the ground outside.

Ringing in her ears. The smell of smoke.

She pushed herself up on her hands and looked back at the warehouse.

Flames licked out through shattered windows.

Wenger was still inside.

Avery ran. Her legs were so weak she almost fell to her knees.

The dull blast still vibrated in her ears like a needle stuck in her brain. She couldn't pull it out.

She didn't dare look back. She ran a few steps, but her legs were shaking too hard.

Dominic's car was still there. He leaned against the door, looking down at his phone. When he heard her footsteps, he looked up.

Avery braced her hands on her knees and gasped for air. Her throat tasted like rust.

"You ran fast."

She kept her hands on her knees. "My mentor, he—"

"I figured."

"He said the records would disappear—"

Dominic nodded.

"He said I picked the wrong side—"

Dominic put his phone away and opened the car door. "You didn't."

She stood there, legs trembling. She wanted to say something else, but her head was full of Wenger's face. His last look. The wire.

When the car got back to Dominic's villa, Avery ran through the front door. She grabbed the nearest black suited guard.

"Where's my daughter?"

The man stared straight ahead. He didn't answer.

Avery let go and yelled, "Dominic! Where is my daughter?"

Her voice bounced off the walls. No Dominic.

"Dominic!"

She shouted again. Her voice cracked. Sharp and hoarse. Her breathing got faster. Her hands shook.

A moment later, she heard Dominic's footsteps behind her. He looked at her for a long time before finally answering.

"Mm."

"Where is my daughter."

She stared into his eyes. His eyes showed nothing. Just empty darkness.

He didn't say anything. He turned and walked deeper into the hallway. After a few steps, he stopped and looked back at her.

"Follow me."

Avery hurried after him, taking two steps at a time. She didn't know how long they walked. Her chest was about to explode.

He finally stopped in front of a door.

She tried to move past him to push it open. His arm came across, blocking her.

"Conditions first."

She pulled her hand back and stared at him. He leaned against the doorframe, looking down at her.

Avery's blood rushed to her head. She listened to her own heartbeat. Her fists clenched. She glared at him.

"Come to my room tonight."

"You're dreaming."

"Then try getting in." He stepped aside and gestured toward the door. Be my guest.

She stared at the door. Her daughter was right there.

She didn't know how long she had been in there. If she was scared. If she was crying.

She couldn't do anything except stand here and wait for this devil to say yes. She forced her tears back. She gritted her teeth and nodded once.

"...Fine."

The door finally opened.

Avery saw a small figure sitting on the floor. Dorothea had a pile of blocks in front of her. Her old, worn out stuffed rabbit was beside her.

The door creaked. The little girl looked up.

"Mommy."

Avery rushed over. She dropped to her knees on the floor and pulled Dorothea into her arms. The girl's body went stiff for a second. Then she softened and buried her face in Avery's neck.

Her daughter's breath touched her skin. Only then did Avery's shoulders relax.

She looked back. Dominic stood in the doorway. His gaze went past her and landed on the small figure.

Avery glared at him. She instinctively shielded the back of Dorothea's head with her hand.

"Ten o'clock," he said.

Dominic looked at her one more time, then closed the door for them and walked away.

Avery shut her eyes. Her chin rested on top of her daughter's head. Dorothea gripped her collar tight.

"Loud." Her voice was muffled against Avery's neck.

Avery pulled back and looked around the room.

Soundproof walls. Double paned glass.

"Not loud."

Dorothea shook her head. She pressed her hand against the wall. Her eyes fixed on something Avery couldn't see. A few seconds later, she pulled her hand back and pressed it to her own ear.

"Wall. Loud."

Avery stared at her. Words from the diagnostic report floated up in her memory. Sensory overload. She was listening to the house. It was breathing.

"Mommy." Dorothea looked up at her. She put her hand on Avery's chest. "You. Loud."

Avery looked down. Her heart was pounding.

In the study, the screens on the wall glowed. Security footage filled the panels. Dominic sat deep in his leather chair. His fingers rested on his knee.

"Boss."

Two knocks. Drake walked in.

"Wenger is still in the ICU. He hasn't woken up."

Dominic didn't move. "What did the doctors say?"

"No one knows when he'll wake up. Or if he will."

Drake paused. "Something happened with her brother. His primary doctor, Lin. He was picked up yesterday. He went willingly. No struggle."

Dominic's fingers stopped moving.

"There's more." Drake lowered his voice. "Two containers at East Pier got held up. The south side logistics route was tampered with too. Someone knew our timing. Knew the routes."

"How much did we lose?"

"Not a lot of money. But—" Drake stopped. "Someone inside is feeding information."

Dominic said nothing. He looked at the screens. The door on the east side of the third floor was closed. The light was on.

"Find them. Three days."

"Yes, sir."

Drake turned to leave.

"One more thing." Dominic's voice came from behind him. "East side of the third floor. Add a camera."

Drake didn't ask why. He acknowledged the order and left.

After she got Dorothea settled and asleep, Avery walked to Dominic's door with heavy steps. She checked the time. 9:59.

Her fingertips hovered over the door. She hesitated. Before she could knock, the door opened.

Dominic stood leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. He wore a dark grey cotton set, sleeves rolled up to his forearms.

He didn't say anything. He just looked at her, like he had been waiting a long time. Or like he had known all along she wouldn't have the nerve to knock.

"Lock it," he said. Then he turned and walked inside.

Avery did as she was told. She followed him to the center of the room.

When she caught sight of the oversized bed, her fists clenched without thinking.

She watched Dominic's eyes slide from her face down to her clenched fists. He paused for a moment. Then his gaze moved up to her lips.

And then the devil smiled. A slow, dark smile.

By instinct, she turned and bolted. A muffled explosion erupted behind her.

"You're afraid of me."

He moved closer as he spoke. Close enough that she could smell the cedar on him.

Dominic reached out and pinched her chin, tilting it up. Her head was forced back. Her throat exposed.

His thumb pressed down on her lower lip.

"All talk."

She raised her hand to slap his away. He caught her wrist.

"You're shaking."

She tried to pull free. He held on tighter.

"I hate you."

"Lots of people hate me. One more doesn't make a difference."

He let go suddenly. Avery stumbled back a step and hit the door.

He stood there watching her, like a cat watching a mouse run two steps and stop.

"Your heart is racing. You'd better make sure you can still aim straight."

He turned, picked up a pair of medical gloves from the tray on the desk, and tossed them to her.

Avery caught them. She had no idea what was happening.

"You-"

"What did you think?" He looked back at her, smirking. "You thought I called you here to sleep with you?"

Dominic gave her a slow once over, then turned away with a soft snort.

"I'm not interested in stiff women."

Before Avery could react, he turned back and pushed open the metal box on the desk.

A syringe sat inside. Pale yellow liquid.

This drug... it was the same one she had injected him with yesterday.

The drug was still in trial phase. High risk. Highly addictive.

It couldn't be given this frequently.

He was the underground ruler of Obsidian City. Of course he could get his hands on this drug. But she wasn't about to risk losing her medical license by injecting him again.

"This drug hasn't finished clinical trials. You can inject it yourself. You don't need me."

"But I need someone who can read my heart rate and knows how much to push."

Dominic turned his face toward her. His gaze cut like a knife. "You know my case. You're good at this. And you did fine yesterday, didn't you?"

He slid the syringe to the edge of the desk. The metallic scrape cut through the dead silence.

"This drug is addictive, Dominic. You're playing with your life."

"Then don't inject me. If-" He walked toward her. His shadow pressed in with every step. "You can fix my chronic insomnia first."

Avery didn't respond. She kept breathing. Deep breaths. Her fingers clenched tight.

Dominic stopped in front of her. He looked down.

"Your brother's medication runs out tomorrow at ten in the morning."

Avery's blood turned to ice.

"Inject me or give me a plan. Your choice."

Dominic reached out. His rough fingertips brushed along the side of her face, barely there. A shiver ran through her.

Avery's palms were clenched. Between the threat of losing the medication and the risk of an uncontrolled drug, she didn't step back. Instead, she stepped forward.

Her fingertip drove into the nerve depression just below his collarbone. She pushed with all her strength.

Dominic's tall frame went rigid.

The blunt pain and numbness from the compressed deep nerve swept through half his body in an instant. His grip on her hand weakened.

"This dosage will build your tolerance. When that happens, no one can save you."

Avery looked up at him.

"I'm taking the drug. You'll get your plan tomorrow. As for whether you sleep tonight? That's up to you."

Before he could recover from the physiological numbness, Avery snatched the syringe off the desk, turned, and pushed out the door.

It wasn't until cold air from the hallway hit her collar that she realized even her fingertips were burning.

When she walked into her room, Dorothea was still awake.

The little girl sat on the floor, hugging her rabbit. A piece of drawing paper lay in front of her. When she heard the door, she looked up at Avery, then looked back down and flipped the paper over.

"Mommy, the people inside the walls are still walking."

Avery walked over and sat down next to her. She looked at her daughter's fingers. Small. Pressed against the floor, like she was listening. Avery reached out and took the little hand in hers.

"Dorothea, Mommy needs to tell you something."

The little girl looked at her. Her big eyes sparkled.

"Some of the people here are helping us. Some aren't. Mommy has to make a lot of decisions every day. Some are right. Some are wrong. But no matter what, Mommy has to make them."

Dorothea blinked. She nodded slowly, like she sort of understood.

"What you hear, you tell only Mommy. I'll decide what to do with it. Okay?"

"What about that uncle? Is he helping us?"

Avery knew exactly who her daughter meant. She was quiet for a moment.

"He's helping Mommy. But that doesn't mean he's helping you."

"Why?"

"Because what he wants isn't the same as what Mommy wants."

Dorothea hugged her rabbit a little tighter. She rested her chin on its head. She looked at Avery for a long time.

"Is his head still a mess?" The little girl pointed at her own.

Avery didn't answer. She reached out and tucked Dorothea's hair behind her ear. "Mommy will handle it."

Dorothea didn't ask more. She buried her face in the rabbit's fur. After a while, her breathing slowed.

Avery picked her up, put her in bed, and pulled up the blanket. She sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her daughter's face. So small. So quiet. Her eyelashes were long, like two little fans.

She hadn't injected Dominic like he asked. Instead, she used the vagus nerve anchoring technique. Fingertip pressure on the nerve point below his collarbone. Stable tactile guidance to regulate his breathing.

Within moments, his overstressed autonomic nervous system had shifted from extreme agitation into sleep. She knew that for his severe PTSD-related insomnia, it was only a temporary fix. But at least, before he did something desperate and destroyed himself, she could keep him steady.

She pulled the USB drive from her pocket. The one she had gotten from Wenger. She plugged it into her computer.

Inside were seven full years of Dominic's treatment records.

The screen lit up. Files arranged by year. The earliest entry was from seven years ago. Dominic was twenty-two.

The first document was an admission record. No name. Just a number. The medical history column read: Stress response disorder. Sleep deprivation. Somatic symptoms. The treatment column had two words: Micro electric shock.

Her fingers stopped on the mouse.

She scrolled down.

Next page. Then the next. Wenger's notes, dense. Medications, reactions, dosage adjustments. Some pages had yellowed edges, like they had been turned many times.

She turned to one page. A diagram of a human body. Front and back. Red dots marked the wrists, the chest, the inner knees. A line of small handwriting beside it: Vagal nerve sensitivity test. Used for forced sedation and emotional blocking.

Avery's breath caught.

The spot on the wrist. The star-shaped scar. She recognized it.

So it wasn't an ordinary scar.

She looked down at her hand. The same fingers that had pressed below his collarbone. His skin's warmth still lingered. Her stomach turned. Bile rose in her throat. She covered her mouth and gagged. Nothing came out.

She closed the laptop. The room went dark.

The next morning, Avery went to his room as usual.

When she pushed the door open, Dominic was already awake. He sat on the edge of the bed, hair still messy. When he heard the door, he looked up.

"Morning," she said.

He didn't answer.

Avery walked over and stood in front of him. She reached out and pressed her fingers to his wrist. His pulse was better than yesterday.

She let go and stepped back.

"No anchoring today. You slept enough last night, so you won't need a nap during the day. Let's adjust the plan. We'll start with-"

"What did you look at last night?" Dominic cut her off.

Her fingers paused. "The files on the USB."

"What was in them?"

Avery looked at him. His expression hadn't changed. He was just waiting.

"Treatment records. Medications, dosages. Wenger's notes." Her voice was flat.

"And?"

"Nothing else. The later files were locked. I didn't have access."

He didn't push. He stood up and walked to the window, his back to her.

"Tell me today's plan."

Avery nodded. She explained the plan she had written the night before. Breathing exercises. Daytime nap rhythm. No drugs. No needles.

While she talked, he kept his back to her. He didn't turn around. When she finished, she waited.

"Dominic."

"Mm."

"You need rest today. No work. No meetings."

"I know."

She stood there, looking at his back. His shoulders were broad. A crease ran down his shirt from his shoulder blade to his waist. She thought of the red dots on the diagram. Something clogged in her chest.

The next two days, Avery continued his treatment as usual. The eighth session. In her opinion, it was neither good nor bad.

On the third day, after treatment ended, Avery went back to her room. Dorothea grabbed her leg.

"Mommy, you're different today."

Avery's fingers tightened. She closed the door, sat down, and pulled Dorothea into her lap. "Different how?"

Dorothea tilted her head and looked at her. She didn't explain. Then she stopped suddenly and turned to look at the door. She held her breath and didn't move.

Avery followed her gaze. The door was closed. The hallway was quiet.

"Dorothea?"

The little girl didn't answer. She hugged her rabbit tighter, then lowered her head and buried her face in its fur.

Three seconds later, a knock came at the door. Light. Two taps.

Avery opened it. Dominic stood in the doorway. He didn't come in. His eyes went to Dorothea first, then moved to Avery's face.

"What is it?"

Dominic studied her. "You changed the plan today."

It wasn't a question.

Avery's heart slowed by a beat. "Just an adjustment."

"Did you." He smiled slightly. "You avoided the collarbone. Why?"

The air went quiet.

She stared at him. She didn't speak.

He walked inside. He picked up the USB drive from the desk and held it in his palm.

"Do you think," he said, "that you 'got' this from Wenger?"

He stepped closer. The distance collapsed.

"Do you really think I would let a variable control me for seven years?"

Avery's pupils contracted.

"Then tell me," he said slowly, "why wasn't the first layer of that USB encrypted?"

Last night, she had thought it was strange. Such sensitive files, and they opened right away. She had assumed Wenger hadn't had time to secure them.

"Because I made it accessible," he said.

She finally understood. She hadn't been investigating him. He had let her investigate him.

"What did you want me to see?" Her voice tightened.

Dominic looked at her. He didn't answer right away. He reached out and touched the spot below her collarbone. The spot she had avoided.

"I wanted to see," he said, "if you would use Wenger's method."

Her breathing broke.

He paused. His voice dropped lower.

"To kill me."

Avery stood there. She didn't move. Her fingers were still pressed to the spot his fingertips had just touched.

Avery couldn't sleep.

She watched the sky bleed from ink-black to a bruised, pale gray. She lay there, eyes wide, as Dominic's words played on a loop in her mind: "I wanted to see if you would use Wenger's method. To kill me."

Beside her, Dorothea's chest rose and fell in a rhythmic, innocent slumber. Avery brushed a stray hair from her daughter's forehead. Her own fingertips were ice-cold.

A sharp double-knock broke the silence.

"Dr. Clair. Boss has canceled today's appointment."

Avery froze. "Where is he?"

"In his study. He gave strict orders not to be disturbed."

Her chest tightened. After last night's confrontation, he hadn't pressed her. He hadn't threatened or tested her. He had simply... discarded her. This sudden silence was more unnerving than any interrogation.

She stood by the window, peeling the curtain back just enough to see the courtyard. Sunlight shattered against the fountain into a thousand jagged pieces. Everything looked peaceful, as if the midnight standoff had never happened.

Dorothea stirred. Clutching her rabbit, she padded over and wrapped a tiny hand around Avery's finger.

"Mommy," the little girl whispered, her expression hauntingly serious. "That uncle... he's unhappy."

Avery looked down at her. Dorothea was staring toward the door with an intensity that didn't belong on a child's face.

"I'm going to the study," Avery said softly.

As she turned to leave, Dorothea tugged at her shirt. The girl shook her head slowly, her eyes locking onto Avery's for a long, heavy second. Then she let go, hugged her rabbit tighter, and turned away. She didn't look back.

Avery stopped before the heavy oak doors of the study. She knocked twice.

Silence. She tried again.

"Dominic."

Still nothing.

She pushed the door open. The room was a tomb of shadows, the heavy drapes cutting off the world. Only a single desk lamp was lit, carving out the sharp, brutal lines of Dominic's profile.

He was sitting there, twirling a syringe between his fingers-the very one she had refused to use on him. The pale yellow liquid caught the light, swaying like a rhythmic, golden trap.

His movement stopped the moment she entered. He tossed the syringe into a drawer and leaned back into the darkness.

"Who gave you permission to enter?"

She held up the key card. "You did. Yesterday."

He stared at her, saying nothing. Dark shadows bruised the skin under his eyes; his collar was rumpled, his usual lethal composure slightly frayed.

Avery had guided him through a relaxation exercise last night. She had watched him drift off. Clearly, his peace hadn't lasted.

"You didn't sleep," she noted.

"I slept fine," he countered, his voice gravelly. "Until I woke up."

She stepped closer, invading his space. "By what?"

He didn't answer. His gaze shifted past her, lost in the void outside the window.

Avery noticed the documents scattered across the desk-the folder with her clinic's logo.

"Dominic... Drake told me about the hospital. My brother's medication has been restored. Thank you."

"It was part of the deal."

She watched his broad shoulders, the tension radiating off him. "You said if I treated you, you'd save him."

"Is that why you're here? To check on your payment?"

"No." Avery's voice dropped, turning clinical yet firm. "I'm here to keep my word. As your psychiatrist, I'm going to treat you. But not with Wenger's poison. We're doing this my way."

Dominic turned, his eyes narrowing as he studied her.

"I need the complete records," she pressed. "Level Two access."

His fingers twitched. "You've already seen enough."

"I've seen the sanitized version. I need the truth."

Silence reclaimed the room. The lamp cast him in stark chiaroscuro-half a saint, half a monster.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because," she said, refusing to flinch, "you're starting to trust me."

The air went still.

He reached for a USB drive. As his fingers brushed the metal, they began to betray him. It wasn't just a tremor; his entire hand was convulsing. He slammed his fist shut, knuckles turning white, but the shaking wouldn't stop. His breathing turned jagged, his throat working as he tried to swallow the mounting panic.

He pressed his hand against his knee, eyes snapping shut.

After a brutal moment, he forced himself to slide the drive to the edge of the desk. "Take it," he rasped.

She picked it up, but he didn't pull away. His hand remained suspended in the air, grasping at nothing.

"Dominic-"

"Don't," he hissed. "Don't ask."

Avery turned toward the door, but a sickening thud stopped her.

She whirled around. Dominic had slammed both fists onto the desk. A glass had shattered under the force, blood immediately blooming from his knuckles.

Then, he began to count. His voice was low, the numbers tumbling out faster and faster, a desperate mantra against the dark.

Drake burst in from the hall, moving toward his boss, but Dominic stopped him with a single, lethal glare.

Avery didn't leave. She stood her ground.

"Dr. Clair," Drake warned, his voice low. "He needs-"

"I know what he needs." She cut him off and stepped back into the lion's den.

Drake blocked her path. "Going in there now is suicide. You'll only make it worse."

"And staying out will let him break every bone in his hand."

Their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills. Drake stepped aside.

Avery approached the desk and crouched beside Dominic. She didn't speak. She didn't offer platitudes. She simply placed her hand over his, pinning his bloodied knuckles to the wood.

The counting stopped.

He kept his head down, his breath hitching, but the tremors slowly began to die down under her touch.

Her eyes fell on his wrist-on the star-shaped scar.

Up close, it was hideous. The edges were raised and irregular, like flesh that had been burned and re-burned. It wasn't an accident.

She remembered the diagram in the file. The Vagal Nerve Sensitivity Test. This was the exact spot.

She stayed there, anchored to him, until his breathing leveled out.

Finally, Dominic lifted his head. His eyes were dark, haunted. He looked at her for a heartbeat, then tore his gaze away.

"Get out."

Avery stood, walked out, and pulled the door shut behind her.

Drake was waiting in the hall, silent as a grave. She didn't say a word to him either as she retreated to her room.

Dorothea was still tucked in bed. Avery sat on the edge, plugging the drive into her laptop.

The files were meticulously named by date-Wenger's signature style. But at the bottom sat a file with a scrambled string of characters.

She stared at it. Wenger didn't make mistakes. She reversed the string in her mind. A date. And at the end, a single letter: D.

Her heart skipped. The ring from the explosion site... the engraving inside was also a D.

She punched in the restored date as the password.

The screen flickered to life.

Level Two was a nightmare of data. At the bottom was a hidden folder filled with surveillance footage of Dominic's treatment room.

She opened the earliest file.

Red text flashed in the corner: Project 030 | Subject 047.

In the video, a younger Dominic sat on a couch, limp as a marionette. Wenger stood over him, fixing electrodes to his forehead. Without checking the monitors, Wenger twisted the dial.

The current shot past the safety line.

Dominic let out a choked, muffled sound. His body lurched, hands clawing at the armrests, but he didn't dare move.

Wenger leaned in, whispering something-a command, a threat.

But it was the shadow in the corner that stopped Avery's heart.

A silhouette stood there, watching. Unmoving.

Every time Wenger tortured him with the settings, the shadow just loomed.

Avery stared at the screen, her breath hitching. Wenger had said he was just a piece on the board.

She thought of the wax seal. The shadow in the video. She didn't know his name, but she remembered her own name listed in Project 030. A cold sweat broke out across her neck.

She dragged the progress bar forward, video after video. Her skin crawled.

This wasn't medicine. It was a lobotomy of the soul.

Avery reached up, her fingers trembling as she touched the side of her own neck. Right here. The spot Wenger had marked for 'Candidate A.'

If Dominic was 047, then she was...

She tried to shove the thought away, but the realization took root. She hadn't been sent here by chance. She had been delivered.

She closed the laptop. The room plummeted into darkness.

At the end of the hallway, Dorothea stood in the shadows, her rabbit dangling from her hand. She was as still as a statue.

She wasn't looking at her mother. She was staring toward the study, her tiny lips moving in a ghostly whisper.

"He's going to break today," the child said, her voice like a chilling sigh.