“I don’t know who Dr. Fell is.”
“She’s the one who did the work on him. The frequency conditioning, the suppression resistance, all of it. She tried to make him into something she could use.”
“She’s Syndicate?”
“Yes, goddammit!” Sable’s nostrils flare. “Creed and a delegation arrived while we were there. She was the researcher who tortured him for all those years. And she wanted him back.” She pauses. “She spoke to him, Brenna. That’s all it took. Her voice. The way she always spoke to him in the facility. His body shut down. She wanted him returned to her program.”
Brenna is quiet for a moment. “Past tense?”
“She has other priorities now.”
“Sable, you’re not being clear. What happened there? Is she…?”
“She’s alive, Brenna. But she won’t be giving anyone commands again. Her face is broken.”
Another silence.
“He did that?”
“I did.” Sable lifts her chin.
“You maimed a Syndicate researcher?” Brenna says slowly.
“She was going to take him back. To the facility. To everything they did to him. I stopped her.”
“And the Syndicate delegation?”
“They put on a show of negotiating with Viktor, but it was all performance. They ambushed us on the drive out of there, and—”
“The drive out? You broke out of a high-security facility, Sable! Viktor’s having a shitfit.”
“Too bad.” Sable snorts. “He wouldn’t listen to reason. Anyway, Creed and his goons tried to stop us. But he withdrewafter Rafael—” Sable pauses. Chooses her words. “Demonstrated what he’s capable of. Creed made the calculation and left. Took Fell with him.”
Brenna exhales. “Viktor mentioned something about the Syndicate offering a trade. Before all of this.”
Sable’s jaw tightens. “They offered to exchange captives for Rafael. Wolves and dragon-blooded held in Syndicate detention. Viktor was considering it.”
My hands tighten on my thighs.
“Captives?” I say.
Sable presses her lips together. “They weren’t serious, Rafael. It was a bluff. You saw how they’d really been planning to get hold of you.”
“How many?” I say.
She glances at me. “Rafael—”
“How many captives?”
Brenna answers. “Twenty-four. That was the final offer.”
Twenty-four. People held in rooms that look like the ones I know. Restrained. Tested. Tortured. Waiting for someone to open the door.
“Then we go back,” I say.
“No.” Sable’s voice is hard. Immediate.
“If they suffer because I ran —”
