“Viktor’s in a closed session. No interruptions.”
“Then he should have made a better decision before locking the door.”
“Sable.” She puts a hand on my arm. “If you go down there right now, shaking and angry, you’ll give the Syndicate exactlywhat they need. An emotionally compromised healer making demands. Creed will use that.”
“Creed is already using everything.” I pull my arm back. “Caution got Faith Fell five minutes alone with him. Strategy got him gassed, restrained, and put back on the table in every way that matters.”
Nadia flinches.
“He let that monster into a locked room with my—” I stop. The word catches in my throat. I can’t say it. Not here, not to Nadia. Not when Rafael might never hear me say it to him first. “With the man I’ve been keeping alive for weeks. And now he’s deciding if he’s worth more as a person or as a bargaining chip.”
“You need to let me—”
“No.” I pull my arm free and grab my jacket off the bed. “Everyone keeps handling this, Nadia. Brenna, Viktor, Aurora, the Syndicate. Every time, Rafael ends up drugged, restrained, traded, or studied.”
“Sable—”
“I’m done sitting in a locked room while other people decide what he’s worth.”
I’m already in the corridor.
The hallway is quieter at this hour. Reduced staff. The overhead lights have dimmed to evening mode. I don’t know the layout well enough to find the conference wing, but I know the direction. Nadia turned left when she went to the meeting, and the administrative level is one floor up.
I take the stairs fast.
Nadia is right. I know that with every step. I’m angry, exhausted, and exactly the kind of evidence Creed would love to use against Rafael.
I keep going anyway.
Because somewhere in this building, Viktor is weighing twenty-four lives against Rafael’s, and I can’t sit in a lockedroom while other people decide how much of him can be sacrificed before they stop calling it rescue.
I round the corner on the administrative level and nearly walk into them.
Viktor comes first, security officers flanking him. Creed follows with two Syndicate operatives behind him, and at Creed’s left shoulder walks the woman from the stairwell window.
Faith Fell.
She’s tall for a human, but still smaller than I expected. Shorter than me by a few inches. Pale, composed, beautiful in a clean-edged way that makes the word feel ugly in my mouth. Every platinum hair is in place. Her suit is immaculate. She looks like a woman who has never had to raise her voice because people have always leaned closer to hear her.
She looks like the kind of person you’d trust with your medical records.
Monsters should be bigger.
Viktor stops. His face tightens when he sees me. “Healer Marsh. You should be in your quarters.”
“I need to talk to you.”
“This isn’t the time.”
“When is the time? After you’ve signed him over?”
The corridor goes quiet.
Creed’s eyes move to me, and I see the moment he starts measuring me. Not as a person. Not even as an obstacle. As leverage.
“The healer assigned to 3-0-6-7-0’s case?” he says, conversationally.
The number rolls off his tongue like a product code.
