“Poison?” I ask, confused. “Doctor?”

“You escaped!”

Loony Lina always says crazy things.

Now I’m baffled. Ten years ago she mentioned poison and escape? But...but...back then, she couldn’t have known this would happen. Right?

Vans pinches my chin between his fingers, jerking me from my thoughts, forcing me to face him. I’m unable to focus, my vision too cloudy.

“You know what to say to make the pain stop.”

Stop...stop...yes, that’s exactly what I want. Will do anything! Panting breaths wheeze through my mouth as I try to tell him—

What?

My parents’ dream...or mine?

“No,” I manage to croak.

Rage contorts his features. He snaps his fingers in Nurse Ratched’s direction. “Give her another injection.”

Another? No, no, no. I struggle to contain my whimpers of protest.

“You kill her?” Nurse Ratched asks. “That is what happens next.”

“Give her another injection!”

No! Bow, I try to scream. She said she would rescue me. She promised. I just... What do I have to do? Say the word—what word? Troika?

Nurse Ratched hurries to the tray and, after rooting through the utensils scattered across the top, returns to my side. Another sting. Another wash of cold followed by intense heat. The terrible sensations in my head magnify a million degrees, and I release a bloodcurdling scream that springs from the depths of my soul.

Over and over Vans tells me to sign with Myriad, and over and over I somehow find the strength to deny him. My dream...dream... He pokes and prods at me. He hits me with a closed fist, backhands me with an open palm. He slices at my arms and legs with a scalpel but through it all...dream, dream, dream... I resist.

Finally he has two choices. Stop, or watch me die.

“Let her down.” His disgust is clear.

Nurse Ratched adds slack to the chains until my feet touch the floor. My legs are the consistency of jelly, and I can’t hold myself up. I sag, my head falling forward, my chin pressing in my sternum as my arms continue to bear the bulk of my weight. Then the fetters are removed, and I crash, knocking out what little air I managed to collect in my lungs.

Vans is right about one thing. I really, really want to die.

“You damaged her.” An all-too-familiar voice slashes through the silence. A male voice with a slight Irish lilt.

Killian is here?

My relief is boundless. A savior! I don’t even care that I’m a damsel in distress.

I can’t lift my head, but I find the strength to pry open my eyes. A cascade of blood obstructs my vision. All I see are two shadows standing face-to-face.

“This is a restricted area,” Vans barks. “Leave. Now.”

“Unfortunately for you, you aren’t the one who pulls my strings,” Killian says. “Do you know who you are? The bastard who used my actions against the girl. Oh yes, I heard about that.”

A third shadow appears. “Your services aren’t necessary, Killian.” Bow’s voice! She’s come for me, too. “You can leave. I’ve got this.”

A menacing growl from Killian. “I’m not going anywhere without Ten.”

“You’ll get her over my dead body.”

“Agreed. But first I’m going to dispose of the trash.”

“Now wait just a—” Vans begins.

“Don’t kill—” Bow says.

Both go silent.

Different sounds hit my awareness. Rustling clothes. The whoosh of air. Gurgling. A loud snap. A louder thump. A whisper.

“Things will be better now, lass.” A soft brush of fingertips through my hair as Killian’s scent fills my nose.

My whimper is barely audible.

“Get your filthy hands off her,” Bow demands.

“Why don’t you make me, Little Bow Peep Show?”

More rustling clothing. When it ceases, I hear panting.

“Vans should have been locked away,” Bow shouts.

“Do you truly believe he deserved a second chance?” Killian asks. “Or is your realm speaking for you?”

“I happen to agree with my realm. You don’t deserve a second chance, and yet you live.”

“I’ve never asked for a second chance. I am what I am. I like what I am. In this case, I’m the victor.”

Bow blows out a frustrated breath. “We need permission from Ten or someone in her familial line to intervene on her behalf—any more than we already have. Until then, our hands are tied.”

“Your hands are tied. Her mother gave her own ML permission to protect the girl from mortal harm. Permission that’s been passed to me. I just protected Ten from mortal harm. Which I’ll continue to do outside these walls.”

“You can’t escape with her.”

“I can. Your laws aren’t mine. You should have convinced her to leave days ago.”

“You want an Unsigned out there? She would have died sooner rather than later.”

Huff, puff. “With me, the level of danger doesn’t matter,” Killian retorts.

A curse from Bow, then a curse from Killian. The two go silent. I hear...typing?

Bow grunts and walks closer to me. I hear splashing. She crouches to do...something. Her hand is moving. She’s writing? On what?

“What are you doing?” Killian demands.

“Her grandmother has requested I clear a path of escape. The girl will choose whether she stays or goes.”

She’s delusional. My grandmother is dead. Both of my grandmothers are dead, in fact. One is in Troika, and one is in Myriad.

“So much for keeping an Unsigned inside these walls, eh?” Killian’s dry tone seems to suck any humidity out of the air. “Guess what? My new orders just came in. I’m supposed to stop you—put your claws away. I won’t obey.”

“Thank—”

“Don’t thank me, Archer. I won’t let her leave with you, either.”

Archer?

“She’ll leave with me,” Killian continues. “If you get in my way, well, I’ll happily kill you.”

“You can try.”

Footsteps. Muttered arguing. Then...nothing.

I’m not sure how much time passes. I drift in and out of consciousness, but finally...finally I’m able to move. My fingers twitch. I roll my shoulder. I lift my arm, wipe my eyes to clear my vision and—

Scramble backward.

A few feet away from me, Vans is on his back, motionless, his dull eyes staring at nothing. His mouth is open, crimson dried at the corners of his lips. He’s...dead? He must be. He’s lying in a pool of blood. One of his hands has been removed, and it’s cuddled up next to my ankle, like a puppy.

Did Killian do this?

If you get in my way, well, I’ll happily kill you.

I bolt to my feet, different parts of me threatening to revolt.

Killian and Bow are gone. They saved me...then left me behind?

Clear a path of escape...

Frowning, I stumble to the open door and peek into the hall. Two guards lie motionless on the floor.

Bow’s doing? Or Killian’s?

Does it matter? There’s no better time to escape. Go, go!

I rush through the room. The problem? My rush is actually slo-mo. I’m weaker than I realized, operating on empty. I manage to swipe up the lab coat Vans dropped and, despite the pain shooting through me, shove my arms inside the proper holes. The doctor’s key card is attached to the lapel. Perfect. I stuff the scalpel in my pocket, grimace as I pick up the severed hand—the number 830543 is scripted across the top. A message from Bow?