I can’t give him the pleasure. Get it together. Stay strong. “Go ahead. Do your worst.”

Common sense shouts, What? Take that back!

“Your best has only ever tickled,” I add. Common sense and I are currently bitter enemies.

Anger flickers in the depths of his eyes, and I know his overinflated pride has been injured.

My satisfaction is minimal, considering the circumstances.

Nurse Ratched wheels a large silver tray inside the room and the door closes behind her, sealing the three of us inside.

Stay calm. Think. Stall, stall, stall. “You don’t have to do this. You said there are no other options, but that’s not true. You can give me the time I asked for.”

“Time is running out.” He smiles. “No, we’re going to do this. Money buys happiness, and anyone who says otherwise is lying. I want my money.”

“Aren’t you afraid of what awaits you in the Everlife?”

He lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “I’ve never cared about tomorrow. Only today.”

“Is that why you’re Unsigned?”

“In part. Troika’s benefits aren’t worth my time, and Myriad hasn’t offered me enough.”

“So you want to wait for a better deal, but I’m supposed to accept the scraps thrown my way?”

“Yes. Exactly.” He slants his head in my direction. “As your father said, one day you’ll thank him for this. One day you’ll even thank me.”

Never! “You’re lying or deluded.”

“I believe the word you’re searching for is right. I’ve been where you are, Ms. Lockwood. My father ran this institution, and his father before him. Everything I’ve done to you has been done to me. And look at me now. I’m strong, unbreakable. Drop me in any situation—war, famine, plague—and I can survive.”

“Living shouldn’t be synonymous with surviving.”

He pops on a pair of gloves. “You have my permission to scream as loudly as you’d like. These walls are soundproofed.”

I swallow the lump growing in my throat. There will be no more stalling, then.

“You have my permission to scream,” I tell him. Looking past the pain in my shoulders, I arch my back for momentum and naturally rock forward, kicking both my legs as high as they’ll go and nailing the good doctor in the jaw. His head whips to the side, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth.

He grunts. His eyes narrow as he licks the crimson from his lips. “You’ll regret that.” The words are filled with promise...and anticipation.

I raise my chin with as much dignity as I can muster. “I only regret your birth.”

He slaps me across the cheek, and the taste of copper trickles over my tongue.

We are nose to nose a moment later, his hot breath fanning my split lip, burning me. “Say another word. I dare you. Your parents have given me permission to do anything I wish to you. You heard them. I can even cut out your tongue, if I so desire.”

He’s just cruel enough to do it.

I glare at him, but I don’t speak another word.

Triumphant, he backs away from me and nods to Nurse Ratched.

She lifts a syringe and thumps its belly, only to freeze as the room—the entire building?—begins to shake. The walls rumble, and dust plumes the air. Both Vans and Ratched stumble and fall, and if not for my chains, I would have gone down, too.

The shaking stops as suddenly as it started, and the pair climb to their feet.

“The realms must battle nearby,” Nurse Ratched says, dusting off her pants.

She’s probably right. Whenever Troika and Myriad engage in battle, the violence spills into the Land of the Harvest through earthquakes, tornadoes, tsunamis and, during the worst of the confrontations, asteroids.

Nurse Ratched swipes up the needle she dropped and approaches me, her dark eyes glittering. “Adrenaline and others goodies to enhance your experience.”

I struggle against my bonds, trying yet again to ignore the pain shooting through me, but I’m already sluggish, and with my limited range of motion, it isn’t long before she’s able to shove the needle deep into my arm. A sharp sting registers—minimal to everything else—followed by a wash of cold...then heat, such horrible heat. Sweat beads over my brow and upper lip, igniting a fire inside me. When the flames reach my heart, the organ bursts into a raging gallop, knocking so hard against my ribs I’m certain they’ll break.

Only momentary, I remind myself. It doesn’t help.

Vans waves a thick metal syringe in front of my face. “You’ve heard of the poison the realms use to kill humans, I’m sure. This little concoction is a variation of it. Baiser de la mort, it’s called. The kiss of death. You’ll want to die, but you won’t.”

Fear courses through me—beg, plead—but still I manage to smile. “Is the big, bad doctor afraid to get his hands dirty? Don’t think you’re strong enough?” If he wants to take my tongue, fine. Do it. It’s only ever gotten me into trouble. “You’re a little bitch, aren’t you? That’s why you use poison.”

“Hold her,” he snaps.

While Nurse Ratched cradles me against her body, effectively caging my head and arms, he sticks me in the neck.

I tense, expecting an immediate reaction. The injection hurts, but I’ve experienced worse. I relax; I even offer the pair another smile. “Aw. Looks like you’re destined for another failure.”

He offers no reaction, but then, he knows what I do not: I’ve spoken too soon. My blood begins to boil, every cell in my body becoming a flame, my veins close to total disintegration.

My skin bubbles, melting like cheese on a pizza. Surely.

“This is only the beginning,” he gloats.

I open my mouth to reply—but I scream. All at once, I feel a thousand razor-sharp pinpricks in my veins, my head, as if bugs are crawling through me, their dagger-tipped legs tap, tap, tapping where they don’t belong. My muscles knot. I think my bones crack. Pressure builds in my temples, and when it becomes too much, warm liquid leaks from my eyes, ears and nose.

I’m bleeding, and I’m dying. I have to be dying. No one can survive this.

Momentary...just a blip. But a single heartbeat might as well be a hundred years.

Don’t care. Stop. Have to make it stop.

I’ll do whatever he wants. I’ll sign with Myriad.

Stop, stop, stop.

If I change my mind about my future later on, I can go to court. Bow mentioned the possibility for the coerced. Yes, yes. Too many lose, she’d said, but I’m willing to take the chance.

Stop!

“I—” My mind breaks, disconnected with me, disassociating with reality—a memory becoming my new truth. I’m seven years old. My dad is home, but he’s pacing in his office, worried about money. How are we going to pay this, Grace? We’re tapped out.

My mom is painting in her studio, preparing to sell one of her pieces earlier rather than later, leaving me in Aunt Lina’s care. She’s come for a visit. We’re alone in my bedroom, and she’s twirling. She’s Loony Lina today, the personality that is blind. Blind and yet, somehow she manages to avoid bumping into my furniture.

“I’m sorry the poison hurt you so bad,” she says in a little-girl voice, despite the fact that she’s twenty-seven, like my dad. “But I’m glad the doctor died.”