She chose his father, and the loop started again. Nik knew every detail from staring at it during his father’s lectures. The star in the top left twinkled twice; the choppy waves crashed on the concrete in an infinite puddle that would never dry; and his mother never smiled. Not once. Not even when she’d made up her mind to follow love to her doom.
“You’d know what to say to him.”
He touched her face.
The painting rippled, like a pond disturbed by a stone. When he pulled his fingers back, they were clean and dry. Not a drop of water or paint.
An illusion. One he tested again by pushing his entire hand through, only to find a smooth and cold surface beyond.
With a deep breath, he pressed his face into the canvas. It felt as if the paint itself were stroking his skin as he sank through to the other side, where a familiar, blinding-white room came into focus.
The operating room. The one his father had hidden from him.
It had always been there, behind his mother’s portrait—like a secret.
The door to the right opened, and two guards wrestled a hulking figure into the examination chair. When they stepped back, Nik cursed.
Gaetan was far worse than when he’d been dragged from the interview. Fresh blood coursed from his nose and mouth, and the bruises had darkened every inch of visible skin, making it impossible to see theman beneath. He didn’t resist as they strapped him down because he couldn’t. He was barely conscious.
They were supposed to have taken him to the prison.
Why the hell was he here?
Nik reached out, finding his fingers pressed against cold glass. A two-way mirror. He could see in, but they couldn’t see out.
Before Nik could even think to break into the room and free Gaetan, Lafontaine was already beside him. His jaw moved and flexed, speaking words Nik couldn’t hear.
Gaetan responded by spitting.
Lafontaine regarded the crimson splotch near his boots. He took a syringe from the operating table. It was filled with purple liquid, which he flicked to remove the air bubbles.
Shit.
This had to be the formula. His big secret.
Gaetan rolled his eyes, mouthing something in response.
Stubborn. Fearless. Like Elara.
“Stop,” Nik muttered as his father approached. “Don’t! Stop!”
Even if his father could’ve heard him, he wouldn’t have listened. He always did as he pleased.
Nik watched in horror as he sank the needle deep into Gaetan’s neck. The massive man stiffened as if struck by lightning. Lips coiled back like a rabid dog as his teeth mashed together hard enough to make the veins protrude along his throat and forehead. He pushed against the restraints, muscles taut with pain.
Then he slumped for what seemed like ages.
Nik’s throat turned sour.
Gaetan awoke with a gasp, and Nik finally allowed himself to breathe.
Lafontaine scribbled notes onto a pad, flipping pages as he spoke. He managed to coax a diminished response from Gaetan, who was trappedin a trance. They volleyed back and forth, answers his father recorded. Given the sharp scratch of his pen, he wasn’t pleased.
As if it pained him to do so, his father took up another syringe.
“Stop,” Nik croaked.
His father approached.
