“His name is Rafael.”
Something moves on Dr. Fell’s face. Small. A tightening at the corners of her mouth that could be amusement or could be something uglier.
“She named him,” she says to Creed, not to me. “That’s quaint.”
My teeth press together until my jaw aches.
“Healer Marsh is not part of this discussion,” Viktor says. His voice is firm. He wants me gone. He wants me out of sight, where I can’t make his impossible situation harder.
“She’s made herself part of it.” Dr. Fell turns to Viktor, dismissing me without even moving. A clean shift of attention, and I’m pushed to the edge of a conversation about the man she tortured for years. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s part of the problem. The variable destabilizing his systems.”
A variable.
She’s talking about me the way she talks about Rafael. A factor in her calculations. A problem to be subtracted.
“You don’t get to talk about him like he’s equipment,” I say. My voice isn’t steady, and I don’t try to make it steady. “He’s not a system. He’s not a subject. He’s a man you strapped to a table while you—”
“While I what?” Dr. Fell faces me. The pale eyes hold mine, and there’s nothing clinical in them now. There’s something patient and vaguely entertained. The look of a woman who’s heard this kind of outburst before and already knows how to retaliate. “While I conducted research that produced results unprecedented in the field of frequency manipulation? While I developed a methodology that could have changed the way we understand shifter biology? You’ve known him for weeks, Healer Marsh. I built the framework that keeps his body functional.”
“You cut him open.” The words come out raw. “Don’t you dare dress that up as methodology.”
“I beg to differ,” she says.
“Differ all you want. I’ve seen his scars. I’ve washed them, dressed them, touched the places where someone took their time.” My voice drops. “That wasn’t research. That was sadism. You’re sick!”
The amusement leaves her face. What replaces it is still controlled, still composed, but the edges are tighter. She looks at me the way you’d look at a stain on a clean surface.
“Clinical outcomes involve procedures that laypeople don’t always understand,” she says. Smooth. Warm. Patient. The voice that explains terrible things as if the horror is in your failure to comprehend them. “I appreciate your concern for the subject. It’s clear you’ve developed a strong attachment. But attachment isn’t treatment, and emotion isn’t expertise.”
“What got a response from him was his name. My voice. Being asked instead of ordered. Being touched without pain following.” I step closer before I can stop myself. “If that destabilized your safeguards, maybe the safeguards were the problem.”
Dr. Fell’s expression barely changes.
“Yes,” she says. “That was the system failure. Your influence destabilized every safeguard I put in place. Before you, he was contained. Manageable. Functioning within parameters. Now he’s breaking walls and injuring staff. That’s on you.”
“He was a prisoner. Manageable isn’t a word you use about a person. It’s a word you use about a dog.”
Her face changes. The composed facade holds, but underneath it, for one second, I see what Rafael must have seen a thousand times from the table: the cold attention of a woman looking at a body and seeing property.
“You’re upset,” she says. “I understand. This is difficult. But the subject’s viability is what matters here, not your feelings about his care.”
Viability.
She uses that word the way a mechanic talks about an engine. Can it still run? Can it be made useful again?
“Viktor.” I turn to him. He’s been watching the exchange with a face like stone. “You can’t give him to her. Please.”
“Healer Marsh—”
“If you want to call it protocol, call it protocol. If Creed wants to call it politics, let him. But if you put Rafael back in a room with that woman, what comes out won’t be a person anymore.”
“Nobody is making any decisions tonight,” Viktor says. His voice leaves no room for argument. “The delegation is here for discussions. Discussions take time. You’ll be escorted back to your quarters.”
“Viktor—”
“Now.” He nods to one of the Aurora security officers. The officer steps toward me.
Dr. Fell watches me being removed from the corridor with an expression I’ll remember for a long time. Satisfaction, clean and quiet, as if the room has finally arranged itself the way she wanted.
