He was waiting—listening—for the wrong answer.
“Those,” he said softly, “are dangerous words, even within these walls.”
I raised my chin.
I refused to back down.
That test ruined my entire life. I wouldneverpretend to support it.
I braced for anger—punishment—something.
But Marr didn’t get angry.
He smiled.
Slow. Clinical.
Like he had just confirmed a hypothesis he’d been waiting years to test.
“You are a fascinating creature, Miss Quinn,” he murmured, voice dripping with delight. “I look forward to our time together. Very much.”
Ice crawled through my veins.
“It’s only Wednesday,” I blurted as he moved toward the counter. “I agreed to your tests on Fridays.”
“Wednesday, Friday…” He waved a hand lazily. “They’re just days, aren’t they?”
My heartbeat clawed at my ribs.
He reached for something on the tray.
A needle.
“No.” The word leaked out of me, thin and helpless. My body stilled, conditioned from years of abuse to obey.
“I only need a little blood today, and maybe one or two samples.” Marr said gently, as if speaking to a frightened child. “Nothing to worry about.”
I stood—or tried to.
He pressed a button beneath the counter.
CLACK.
Metal restraints snapped over my wrists, pinning my hands to the arms of the chair.
“NO!” I yanked, but the cuffs didn’t budge. Panic spiked hard and fast.
“Calm yourself,” he said lightly. “This is standard procedure.”
He pushed up my sleeve.
I couldn’t breathe.
“Marr—stop—please don’t—”
“This will only hurt a moment.”
He didn’t give me time to scream.
