She didn't comment, probably was afraid to, but she nodded.
"How does a man show a woman that he's those things?" Number Four asked.
Anita set down a card. The pile was getting high.
"A woman who is loved wants the man to tell her he loves her without making her ask, and she wants him to mean it when he says it. And she wants him to never weaponize the love. Not to use it as a leash. Not to remind her of it in a tone that indicates she owes him for it. Love needs to be offered freely, and love should be the only thing expected in return."
The scents of sadness and disappointment she was emitting indicated that she hadn't been speaking in hypothetical terms. She had been speaking from experience. Someone she'd loved had treated her badly.
"What do you mean by weaponizing?" Number Four asked.
"Using something that should be a gift as a punishment."
The collective didn't understand what she meant, but they didn't want to ask her to give them an example because the subject was distressing her.
Number One played a card. A jack of clubs. Anita matched it. The game went around. Number Seven played an eight and called diamonds. Number Two won the hand on the next turn.
"Beginner's luck," he said.
His individual intelligence and skill had nothing to do with it. The game was between Anita and the collective, not Anita and eight others.
Number Four shuffled the cards for the next hand.
"Do you have more questions?" Anita asked.
The collective decided to stay away from the topic that was causing her pain and shifted to something a little different.
Number One looked at her across the circle. "How does a man know if a woman likes him, not just as a friend but as something more?"
The collective went very still.
That was not a planned question. It was Number One's question. He had not run it past them. He had pulled it out of nowhere and asked it directly.
She looked at him for a long moment, and her expression softened.
"It's easy when you know what to look for. It's mostly in her eyes and the way she looks at you. She might act more shy around you than others, but she still wants you close," she said. "She might tell you things she hasn't told anyone else, and she makes time for you when she does not have time. She trusts you."
Number One looked down at his cards.
He did not say anything.
The other seven did not say anything either. The collective held the moment without commentary, because Number One was processing something, and pushing him would not help.
Anita watched him. "Are you thinking about someone in particular?"
Number One couldn't answer that question. None of them could. The breeding enclosure was off limits for them.
"It's a general question," Number Eight said. "We are curious about how things work outside this island, and you have lived in that world. You have the experience. We don't."
Anita looked doubtful. "It's okay. You don't need to tell me anything. It's none of my business."
It was quite astonishing that she was so lucid despite the drugs that should have dulled her mind. Perhaps that was something she and Petrov had in common. He was sharp no matter how much vodka he consumed, and she was sharp no matter what she'd snorted or had been injected with.
"But I will say this," she said as she set her cards face down on the carpet. "If you are asking whether a woman likes you in that special way over a game of Crazy Eights, the answer is probably yes, and you already know it. Men do not ask the question when the answer is no. They ask it when the answer is yes, but they find it hard to believe."
Number One went very still. "How do you know that?"
"I just do." She shrugged. "I'm honest and direct when the drug is wearing thin, so I tell you things as they are."
