I tucked my gun into my waistband. Still easily accessible, but I didn’t want to scare Sophia any more than she already was, and I had no desire to shoot an innocent kindergarten teacher who had no control over herself at the moment. I pushed the door open slowly, deliberately making noise to avoid startling Beth. Her head turned toward us in that robotic way, but her eyes darted frantically for a split second before settling back into that vacant stare.
She was in there. Fighting.
“Hello, Beth,” I said, keeping my tone calm, conversational. “We’re here for Sophia.”
“Subject Sophia Phillips has been selected for special development.” Beth’s voice was flat, emotionless, but I caught the smallest tremor in her hand where it gripped Sophia’s shoulder. “Her neural plasticity is optimal. Her adaptation will be accelerated.”
I moved into the room, positioning myself between Evelyn and Beth. My left arm hung at my side, mostly useless. I’d have one shot with my right if this went bad.
Sophia’s gaze found me, and a fresh wave of silent tears spilled down her cheeks. She looked so small sitting there, so vulnerable in her purple sweater with the butterfly pin. Her hands were folded in her lap, white-knuckled with fear.
“Vigi?” she whispered.
“Hey, Bunny. It’s okay.” I kept my voice steady, eyes on Beth as I moved one step closer. “Your mom’s here, too. We’re going to take you home now.”
Beth’s fingers tightened visibly on Sophia’s shoulder, making the little girl wince. “Unauthorized removal of test subjects is not permitted.”
Behind me, Evelyn made a small, wounded sound. “She’s not a test subject, Beth! She’s my daughter.”
Something flickered behind Beth’s eyes. Recognition, maybe. A crack in the programming. But then it was gone, washed away by the blank stare. Her free hand moved to her desk drawer, slow but deliberate.
“Don’t,” I warned, my right hand shifting toward the gun at my back.
Beth ignored me, pulling open the drawer and reaching inside. Her movements were faster than they should have been, enhanced by whatever controlled her. My hand closed around the grip of my weapon, but I was too slow.
She withdrew a pair of scissors—not the blunt safety scissors used by kindergartners, but long, sharp fabric shears. In one fluid motion, she pulled Sophia to her feet and held the open blades against the child’s throat.
“Interference will result in termination of the subject.” The words didn’t match Beth’s vacant eyes. They were coming through her, not from her.
Sophia whimpered, a tiny, broken sound that hit me like a physical blow. Beside me, Evelyn made a noise I’d never heard from a human being before—raw, primal, the sound of a mother watching her child in mortal danger. Her body tensed to spring forward, but I caught her arm, holding her back.
“Wait,” I murmured. “You’ll make it worse.”
Beth’s hand trembled slightly where she held the scissors, the sharp point dimpling the soft skin of Sophia’s neck without breaking it. Not yet. The real Beth was fighting, trying to stop her own hand from pressing deeper.
“Subject will be transported to processing center,” Beth continued in that flat voice. “Resistance is not permitted.”
My mind raced through options, each worse than the last. I couldn’t risk a shot—Beth was using Sophia as a shield, and the scissors were already against her skin. Rushing her was equally dangerous with my left arm compromised. One startled reflex, one twitch of her hand, and those shears would slice into Sophia’s throat.
“Beth,” I tried again, softening my tone. “I know you’re in there. I know you can hear me. You don’t want to hurt Sophia. You love these kids. Remember? You said they were the best part of living in Garnett.”
Another flicker behind her eyes. A tiny loosening of her grip on the scissors.
“That’s it,” I encouraged. “You’re stronger than whatever’s controlling you. You can fight this.”
For a brief moment, the real Beth surfaced—confusion clouding her face, horror dawning as she realized what she was doing. “I... I don’t...” The scissors lowered a fraction of an inch.
Then it was gone, washed away by that vacant stare. The scissors pressed back against Sophia’s throat, harder this time. “Processing will continue as scheduled. Step aside or the subject will be terminated.”
“Please,” Evelyn whispered, her voice cracking. “Please don’t hurt my baby.”
Sophia’s eyes locked on her mother’s, wide and terrified but somehow trusting. Even now, even with cold metal against her throat, she believed her mother would save her. That belief had kept her silent, kept her still, kept her alive.
I shifted my weight, calculating angles, trying to find a solution that didn’t end with a little girl’s blood on a kindergarten classroom floor. If I lunged left, Beth would have to turn to track me, which might give Evelyn an opening to grab Sophia. But if Beth’s reflexes were enhanced like the others, she might react faster than expected. The risk was too high. And my left arm wouldn’t respond fast enough if I needed it.
A shadow fell across the doorway. Someone big stood there, blocking the dim hallway light, but I didn’t turn, kept my eyes on Beth and those scissors.
“Figured you might need backup,” came a gruff voice I recognized.
