"How do you know about that?"
"I told you. Gabriel sent me." She patted the couch beside her. "Come sit. Let's discuss what happens next."
Every instinct screamed danger. But stronger than instinct was conditioning—obey female authority, follow commands, trust anyone who knew the right words. I found myself moving, sitting, even as my skin crawled with wrongness.
"Good girl." The praise hit like a drug, making me hungry for more even as alarm bells rang. "He said you were well-trained. Said you'd come easily once you knew he wanted you back."
"He wants me back?"
"Would I be here otherwise?" She shifted closer. "Though I have to say, seeing you in person... I understand the appeal. All that rage transformed into something so... compliant."
My body reacted to her proximity—not with arousal but with increasing dread. Something in her eyes, her energy, the way she looked at me like meat. This wasn't how Gabriel's colleagues acted. Wasn't how anyone from the Institute would approach a patient.
"I should... I should pack."
"No need." Her hand found my thigh, possessive and wrong. "He has everything you need. Just wants you. As you are. Right now."
The touch broke through conditioning enough for clarity. Gabriel would never send someone who touched me without permission. Would never let another person handle what was his. This woman, whoever she was, wasn't from him.
"Actually," I stood quickly, "I need to use the bathroom first. Before we go."
"I don't think so." She grabbed my wrist, grip painful. "Sit back down, Bunny."
The use of my name felt like violation. Wrong mouth forming sacred sounds. I tried to pull away, but she was stronger than she looked. Fear finally overrode programming, flooding my system with adrenaline I'd forgotten how to use.
"Let go."
"Or what?" She laughed, ugly sound. "You'll hurt me? Sweet little Bunny who can't even order coffee without panic? Who lets strange men grope her rather than make a scene?"
"How do you—"
"Same way I know about the Institute. About Gabriel. About exactly what he did to turn you into this perfect victim." She yanked me closer. "There's a whole network of us, you know. People who've figured out what the Institute produces. Where they send their finished products. How to... acquire them."
Horror washed cold down my spine. "You're not from Gabriel."
"Clever Bunny. Though not clever enough to avoid answering your door to strangers." Her free hand produced a phone, showed video footage—me in the coffee shop, frozen while that man touched me. "This has been circulating. Do you know what people would pay for someone like you? Fully trained, completely conditioned, unable to resist?"
"No." The word came out small, powerless. "No, I belong to—"
"To a man who abandoned you. Who left you gift-wrapped for whoever figured out the pattern." She stood,dragging me with her. "Time to go, Bunny. Your new owner is waiting."
New owner.
The words shattered something. Not my conditioning—that ran too deep. But the last fragments of trust, of faith that the world contained only people like Gabriel who would hurt me carefully, with purpose.
I went limp. Complete dead weight, trained response to distress. She cursed, tried to haul me upright, but bodies were heavy when they didn't cooperate.
"Fine. We do this the hard way."
She dropped me, and I scrambled. Not far—my body still wouldn't fully disobey a direct command—but enough to put the coffee table between us. Pathetic defense, but all I could manage.
"This is adorable." She circled like a predator. "Where exactly do you think you're going? You can barely function in public. You think you can run? Hide? Fight me?"
She was right. I couldn't do any of those things. But I could scream. Maybe. If I remembered how. If the sound could bypass trained quiet and—
Her phone rang. She answered without taking her eyes off me.
"Yeah, I've got her. No, she's being difficult. What? Now?" Frustration colored her voice. "Fine. Twenty minutes."
