“You don’t want that for Lena, do you, Silas?” she asked, her head tilting slightly.
The way she said his first name casually and too familiar, made something uneasy curl in my stomach. His gaze drifted to me, lingering in a way I didn’t understand. Goosebumps prickled across my skin.
Silas exhaled through his nose, loud at first, then quieter. The anger in him didn’t vanish, but it shifted, pulling tight and contained. Finally, he dragged his gaze away from me, like it took more effort than it should have.
“Fine,” he said low. “For today.”
Dr. Hampton gathered her notes, then paused, fingers resting lightly on the edge of the table.
“There's one more thing before I go,” she said.
Silas stilled, tension still coiled in him, but he didn’t interrupt again.
“Every appointment,” the doctor continued, “I ask if there is something I can bring with me to our following session. Something that might help. Something you want.”
Her eyes returned to me, not pressing or demanding, but patient.
“You haven’t requested anything yet,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “But I’ll ask again. Is there something you want me to bring you, Lena?”
The room went quiet.
I kept my lips shut, the question making me more uncomfortable than all the others combined. Not because it wasthreatening.
Because it was an offer.
And I didn’t yet know what it would cost me to accept it.
Despite that, I lifted my hand and pointed to the puzzle still spread across the table. I had enjoyed putting it together and wanted another.
For the first time in a long while, my mind felt awake again. The images, which used to surface all the time, were coming back more frequently. It was as if my mental gears were finally greased and turning freely.
She nodded. “More puzzles. Noted. I'll try to find a few that are more challenging.”
Asking for more puzzles was my first, small test. I wanted to know what,if anything, my request would cost me, and more importantly, whether I could begin to trust them.
Chapter 8: Silas
Iwas wound too tight all the time.
The unrelenting pressure sat in my chest like a lead weight, ever since seeing Lena’s ruined back.
Her scars weren’t clean or controlled. They were deep, uneven, carved into her flesh with blind, unfocused rage. There was no precision to them, no restraint. Just damage.
I knew what that looked like.
I’d spent years in interrogation rooms doing exactly what was needed to get answers. Pain wasn’t something I avoided. It was my favorite tool. One I understood and used without hesitation when the situation called for it. Even when it didn’t, I used it anyway, just to bleed out the violence bubbling under my skin. I’d never felt guilty about it. Never second-guessed it.
Until her.
I had walked into our workshop prepared to hurt Lena. To lay hands on her, to push, to break, to carve answers out of her the same way someone else already had. I hadn’t even hesitated.
But now…
Shame consumed me, unfamiliar and unwelcome.
Despite inflictingfarmore gruesome violence on people during interrogations, I couldn’t shake the mounting thought that it could have been me.Icould have been the person tocarve into Lena's back. Mere days ago, I was prepared to be that man.
And it didn’t sit right.
