Dr. Hampton didn’t look up from her notes. “Which is exactly why you need to pay attention to what she chooses.”
“In survival mode, there are no preferences,” she said calmly. “You eat what keeps you alive. You don’t care what it tastes like, what you like, or what you don’t.”
Her gaze shifted between us.
“The moment someone shows preference… even something small, like avoiding peas…that’s choice.And choice, however small, means she’s beginning to come out of survival mode.”
“So you vary the food, giving her options. Document what she gravitates toward, integrating them more frequently into her diet. Remember, you’re not just feeding her,” she said. “You’re giving her control back.”
I thought back to the way the runt had scrunched her nose at the side of peas. She was starving, but something in her had still decided she didn’t have to eat them.
Was what the doctor said true? That she was already starting to feel safe enough to refuse eating them?
I doubted it considering the way she still hid under the bed, tracking us with wary eyes.
“Fifth,” Dr. Hampton continued, “therapy and questioning.”
Silas cut her off, “When exactly do we get answers?Command wants to know everything she knows about the Bellini Crime Syndicate. Eventually they'll get impatient and demand intel.”
“After regulation,” she said. “She’ll meet with me daily at the same time. Therapy comes first. You’ll both be allowed to ask questions afterward. For now, it’s her choice whether she answers.”
“And if she won’t talk?” Silas asked.
“If you follow my guidelines, she will. I have years of experience with omegas, and I specialize in rehabilitating trafficked ones. Lena is far from the first deeply traumatized omega I’ve worked with. The world isn’t kind to them," she said, trailing off into thought.
Then adding, "I know what I’m doing. You’ll have to trust me, the same way we’re asking her to trust us.”
Silas sighed, shifting his weight and dropping his gaze.
Dr. Hampton flipped the page in her notebook. “Sixth. Touch.”
Silas and I both went still. Any attempt at contact usually ended in biting.
“She is severely touch-averse,” Dr. Hampton said. “That will not resolve on its own. If she is ever going to be assigned to a unit, she has to tolerate contact. Touch is fundamental to that role. We need to recondition her to accept it.”
“Where do we start?” I asked.
“Small,” she said. “Neutral and functional touch. Handing her items directly and brushing fingers. Brief contact with no sudden movements.”
“And after that?” Silas asked.
“We’ll discuss escalation when she stops flinching quiteso much,” Dr. Hampton replied. “If she cannot tolerate touch without becoming violent, we cannot place her and Command will most likely transfer her to the breeding facility, as a last resort. It would be a shame...”
Silas leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re asking a lot.”
“I’m asking for consistency,” Dr. Hampton said. “Not tenderness, coddling, or bonding.”
She closed her notebook. “If you follow this protocol, she will stabilize. If you don’t, she will shut down completely.”
I glanced at Silas. “We can do this.”
He didn’t answer right away, then he nodded once. “Fine. We'll try your way. But if it doesn't work…” The implication hung in the air.
Dr. Hampton stood. “Good. Then start today.”
Silas walked Dr. Hampton out of the building while I headed for the runt’s room. When I unlocked the door, she did exactly what I expected and slid under the bed.
I sighed and moved to the side of the bed, then eased myself down the wall until I was sitting on the floor. I stretched my legs out in front of me and folded my arms behind my head, settling in.
