"Eight, and I get to review the data again first."
He studied me, then nodded. "Deal."
I sat on the bed with the laptop, pulling up the files again. The GPS data painted Gabriel's movements in digital breadcrumbs. Each coordinate a place he'd been. Eachtimestamp proof that he existed in the world while I'd been reshaping myself into something that could destroy him.
"The Moscow safe house," I said, pointing to the cluster of locations. "Look at the pattern. He goes back to the same three blocks repeatedly. That's where he was staying."
"Past tense," Nathan reminded me. "He's not there now."
"No, but it tells us something about his habits. He likes familiarity. Control. Even in hiding, he establishes routines." I scrolled through more data. "Same thing in Prague. Berlin. He finds a base and creates a territory."
"So we look for that pattern in Boston."
"Exactly." My fingers flew over the keys, cross-referencing the Boston coordinates with property records, business licenses, anything that might give us a starting point. "He needs infrastructure. Medical facilities for his experiments. Secure locations for holding products. Networks he can tap into—"
The laptop disappeared from my hands. I blinked, disoriented, as Nathan set it on the desk across the room.
"Eight hours," he said. "We agreed."
"But I'm not tired—"
"Yes, you are. You're exhausted and manic and probably halfway to a psychotic break." He sat on the edge of the bed, not touching but close enough that I could feel his warmth. "I've watched you take apart thirteen operations in three weeks. Thirteen, Bunny. You've tortured information out of more people than most special ops soldiers see in a career. You're running on violence and vengeance and some misguided idea that if you just push hard enough, you'll find him before you completely lose yourself."
The words stung because they were true. I pulled my knees to my chest, making myself smaller. "What if the trail goes cold again? What if this is our only chance?"
"It won't be." His voice held certainty I didn't feel. "He's sloppy now. Overconfident. He thinks you're dead or broken beyond repair. He doesn't know what you've become."
What I'd become. The phrase echoed in my skull, mingling with older programming. Good girl. Perfect pet. Daddy's favorite experiment.
"I dream about him," I admitted quietly. "Not... not nightmares. Not anymore. I dream about him being proud of me. Of what I've done. What I've become. Like this is all just another test and I'm finally passing."
Nathan's jaw tightened, but he didn't speak.
"Sometimes I touch myself thinking about it." The confession spilled out, raw and shameful. "About showing him. Look what your pet learned. Look how well she hunts. Look how beautifully she breaks things."
"Bunny—"
"Is that fucked up?" I laughed, high and brittle. "Of course it's fucked up. Everything about me is fucked up. He programmed responses so deep I can't dig them out. I'm hunting him and getting wet thinking about his approval. How's that for conditioning?"
The room felt too small suddenly. Too hot. I stood abruptly, pacing to the window. Boston was northeast. Six hours. Three hundred miles. I could steal a car, be there before—
"Come to bed," Nathan said quietly.
"I can't. I'm too..." I gestured helplessly at myself. At the crawling energy under my skin. At the broken thing wearing my face.
"Then let me help."
I turned to find him watching me with that careful expression he'd perfected. The one that said he saw how close to the edge I was. How easy it would be to tip over.
"You can't fix me," I said.
"I'm not trying to. Just... let me help you rest. No pills. No violence. Just sleep."
But I couldn't. The moment I closed my eyes, I'd see Gabriel. Not the monster who'd kept me in chains, but the careful programmer who'd rewired my brain. The one who'd made me need his approval like a drug.
My fingers moved without conscious thought, unbuttoning my jeans. Nathan went very still.
"You don't have to watch," I said, shoving the denim down. "I just... I need..."
