It’s just as I remember it—all white, lit with bright lights. In the center of the room, there is apadded bench just waiting for someone to be strapped down and scream for their life on top of it. On the side table, an array of IGC corrective instruments waits to be picked as a device for legal pain.
I swallow hard. I wish I had brought my own whip, but I didn’t even think about it. Now I can’t even give Eve the comfort of a familiar pain.
"The prisoner will assume the punishment position," Jin Kol says after he’s taken a seat in the viewing section.
Eve moves with a slight tremor to the bench with the poise of someone who doesn’t regret her crime, and I’m proud of her.
"The contract specifies the owners must administer the correction personally," Jin Kol reminds us. "To reinforce the bond of authority."
"We know," Rafe answers sharply.
Jin Kol scrolls through his tablet with obvious pleasure, then reads out the punishment. "The subject has accumulated eighteen infractions since her trial. May I remind you that these infractions areyourfault. You are her owners." The words slice through me. "Emotional outbursts on six occasions. Food refusal for three consecutive days. Failure to maintain proper positions during Commander Gai's gatherings—I have video documentation of her breaking third position during the Ambassador's visit. Then, there are the comments you made to me, Lorian. And now, insufficient vocalization during conjugal activities." He pauses and gives a fake sigh. "That's twenty-four infractions. The standard correction is two strikes per infraction. However, given the subject's overall compliance trajectory, I'm authorized to increase it to three." And then the bastard smiles.
Seventy-two strikes.
Goddesses. She really might die.
"Which one of you will administer your prisoner’s punishment? Or will you split it between the two of you?”
"I will do it all,” I say.
“No surprise there. Choose your method, Sovereign Lorian.”
The table waits for me—seven implements laid out like offerings before the goddesses. Each whip promises something different, a philosophy of control encoded into design—and all of them are wrong for her.
The Fine-Haired Neural Lash draws my eye first. It’s a masterpiece of restraint—every strike a conversation between pain and pleasure — but I feel like if I choose this one, it will turn out to be a trap set by Jin Kol.
Beside it, the Plasma Coil hums faintly, its energy trapped inside transparent tubing that glows from dark green to white. It leaves marks that fade after a few hours but vivid memories of the punishment that will last forever.
No, if I can avoid that one, I will.
Then I see the Reima Two Devotional Flogger. Black leather, soft at first glance, but threaded with metallic veins that vibrate faintly when I touch them. It’s used for atonement. It is the least wrong choice available. I pick it up without hesitation and swing it through the air to get a feel for it. Then I look at Eve, naked and trembling before me.
Goddesses, give me strength.
“Eve,” she flinches when I speak her name, “I will begin now.”
I take a deep breath and hold the whip in position, but I can’t do it. Not yet. I get to my knees and kneel beside her. I need to touch her. I need one moment of connection before I become her tormentor. "I'm so sorry, my corrupt angel. Count them in your head. It helps."
“More lashes will be added if you do not commence, Sovereign Lorian,” Jin Kol says.
The rage is back, burning beneath my skin as I stand, and take position behind her. I raise my hand, and as if the goddesses have taken over, the first strike lands. I try to pull the blow as much as I can while still making it look convincing.
Eve doesn't make a sound, but I feel her pain spread violently across her back like it's my own.
"Harder," Jin Kol barks. "That one doesn't count."
My hand shakes as I raise the whip again; I'm breaking inside, but I force myself to begin in earnest, and my heart cries with every sound of the whip ripping through her delicate skin.
When I feel myself losing control, I look at my brother.
Rafe stands exactly where he said he would. One step back from the circle. Hands folded behind him. Spine straight. Face unreadable. He does not flinch or look away. He is my anchor, just as he said he would be.
I draw the whip back again. The sound cuts through the air. Flesh yields, and Eve’s breath breaks along with another piece of my soul.
I am a monster.
I meet Rafe’s eyes again. He’s not judging me. He’s holding the line. He’s reminding me of why we are here and why Eve’s not already dead on a mining moon.
