NADIA
There’s too much noise. I know there isn’t, not really - the room is completely silent - but the drugs twist the air into chaos. Everything hums. The sound of my own pulse roars like machinery in my head, a constant, uneven beat that drowns out thought.
My body feels far away, like I’ve been unstitched from it. The edges of reality blur and slide, and I can’t tell what’s happening and what I’m only imagining. Shadows breathe. Light bends. The world swims between waking and sleep, and I’m caught somewhere in the undertow - drifting deeper, dragged under - until I can’t tell if the danger is real, or just the fever burning holes through my mind.
The buzz of his phone shatters the stillness.
A sharp vibration rattles against the metal tray beside me. The syringe halts midair, the needle grazing my skin just enough to sting.
Kellerman curses - a clipped, irritated sound that barely fits his usual composure. He snatches up the phone, glances at the screen, and something flickers across his face. His controlcracks, just for a second. The mask slips, and what’s underneath is raw - fear, or fury, I can’t tell.
I strain against the straps, my vision swimming, trying to catch the name glowing on the screen. The letters twist, blur, smear into one another as the drugs drag at my focus. I blink hard, once, twice - but the world keeps sliding out of reach.
My stomach lurches. Kellerman growls, setting the syringe down too hard, the clatter echoing off the walls. He paces, phone in hand, voice low but furious. “I told you - it’s contained. No. She doesn’t matter. That wasn’t the deal. We stick to the plan and - ”
He turns his back, his hand cutting sharp gestures through the air. My wrists burn as I pull against the straps until the leather bites deep, skin splitting, warm blood sliding down my arm.
Focus, I tell myself.Move.
But the drugs drag at me, thick and heavy, muting every instinct. My breath comes fast, shallow, every inhale tasting of chemicals and fear.
Kellerman snaps the call off, his shoulders rigid. When he turns back to me, the calm has returned, but I see the fracture in it now, thin cracks spidering through the mask.
“You’ve complicated things,” he says softly, wiping his hands with a cloth as though I’m already a stain to clean. “But don’t worry. I’ll fix it.”
He picks up the syringe again, his fingers curling around it with surgical precision.
I thrash, desperate, the chair rattling against the floor. My voice breaks on his name. “Kellerman—don’t! Please?—”
He steps closer, the needle glinting under the harsh light.
And in the corner of my vision, the shadows seem to shift.
My heart leaps, wild hope tearing through the fear.
Lucian.
The drugs have turnedmy body into something unreliable, imprisoned and trembling. But consciousness clings like a stubborn flame.
Kellerman wipes his hands like he’s just finished prepping dinner instead of prepping me. “We can’t have you… embarrassing yourself,” he says, voice bland, clinical. “I’ll allow a bathroom break. It’s humane. And you and I both know your body won’t hold much longer.” His tone makes bile coat my teeth.
He unbuckles the straps one by one. Leather peels away from my wrists with a sick little kiss. My joints scream. My skin buzzes. When my ankles are free, I shove myself upright too fast. My legs don’t catch me. I spill off the gurney in an ugly collapse, knees smacking cold concrete. Pain shoots white behind my eyes.
He lunges to steady me, hand reaching for my arm.
That's when instinct cuts through the fog like a blade.
I twist, fingers darting. My hand closes around cold metal on the tray - a scalpel. Too small to save me, sharp enough to matter. I drag myself up, swaying, holding it between us.
“Don’t,” he warns, and his voice slips - he’s no longer the steady surgeon, but a startled man.
“There's only one way this ends,” I hiss, voice shaking but sure. “Either you die. Or I do. But I won’t let you hurt me anymore.”
His eyes narrow. Something ugly sparks. He moves.
I act first.
I drive the blade up and into my own stomach.
