“Oh, Miss Quinn. No, I have no intention of injecting you. I’m not here to hurt you, regardless of what you may believe me capable of.” His gaze drifted to the vials. “Though I do require you to pay them some… attention.”
He gestured to a second tray filled with identical glass cylinders.
“What are they?” I asked.
He smiled broadly and tapped the side of his nose. “We’ll get to that later. But first, I’ll need you to remove your gloves.”
I tensed.
“No.”
“Miss Quinn,” he said gently, “I can do this with your assistance or without, but I would much rather have your cooperation.”
“Why?” I demanded. “Why do you need them off?”
Dr Marr sighed, like I was the one being difficult.
“Miss Quinn, I would imagine this to be preferable to the alternative.”
“What do you mean?”
Instead of answering, he reclined slightly and pressed a button on the remote beside his chair.
The wall across from us began to descend, revealing a row of screens—each one showing a different room in Chao Block.
“What the fuck?”
“These,” Dr Marr said pleasantly, “are some of the subjects we currently have in Ward A. Every individual you see is classified as highly dangerous and deeply volatile.”
My stomach lurched when one of the screens flickered clearer.
Ash.
He was hooked up to a machine, running on a treadmill—running without pause, without fatigue, like stopping wasn’t an option. Clear tubes fed into his arms, each pulse sending another dose of fluid into his bloodstream.
His eyes were glazed.
His lip curled with agitation.
“What the hell are you doing to him?” I demanded.
“Mr Lyconis, in particular, is an interesting specimen,” Dr Marr replied, tone shifting into clinical recital. “His air magic rates high on the Light scale—sixty-seven L—but his antisocial tendencies are… difficult. This routine regulates his energy and channels it into something productive. Exercise.”
“And his eyes?” I stabbed a finger toward the screen. “He’s drugged.”
“Of course.” Marr looked genuinely perplexed at my outrage. “Without drugs, Ash would be uncontrollable. This stabilises him.”
“Drugging fixes nothing!”
“Perhaps you’re right, Miss Quinn.” His voice remained maddeningly mild. “But at the moment, drugs are our only option to contain the threat of strong powers in the hands of… unstable users. Consider the impact of schizophrenia on a young woman like Miss Ambrose here.”
He pointed to another screen—Amelia.
She stood motionless, staring at her wall as if it held all the answers. Her thin hands clutched her stuffed rabbit.
Then, without warning, she launched herself at the wall, screaming.
I flinched hard.
