“What the hell does that mean?”
Imprinting?
My stomach twists violently.
Gabriel mutters something under his breath.
Something that sounds dangerously close to a curse.
The voice continues calmly.
“Dr. Hannah Bowers was never intended to remain in civilian circulation this long.”
Civilian circulation.
Like I’m a weapon that got misplaced.
My chest tightens so hard it hurts.
Clay takes one step forward.
“You’re done talking about her like she’s property.”
“And yet,” the voice replies smoothly, “your behavioral profile confirms exactly why attachment contamination was prohibited during Phase Two trials.”
Phase Two.
The words slam into me.
A sharp burst of pain explodes behind my eyes—
and suddenly—
white hallways.
Children crying.
Needles.
Rows of hospital beds.
A younger version of myself strapped to a chair.
Screaming.
I gasp hard enough to double over.
Clay catches me instantly.
“Hannah!”
Pain rips through my skull.
Too many flashes.
Too fast.
Men in white coats.
