"Yes. Broken means destroyed beyond any possibility of repair. Shattered. Useless. You're not that. You're just—changing. Evolving. Becoming who you were always meant to be without the Sanctuary's lies controlling and limiting you."
"Or becoming exactly what you're making me into. What you're molding me to be."
"Both things can be true, Eden. They're not mutually exclusive."
I hate that phrase.
Hate how he uses it to justify everything.
Hate how it makes twisted, impossible sense even when it absolutely shouldn't.
"Finish your breakfast," he says, his tone shifting to that commanding edge I've learned means the discussion is over. "We start in twenty minutes."
The library has changed since yesterday.
Or maybe the changes were always there and I just didn't notice them through the fog of training and exhaustion and the slow dissolution of my sense of self.
There's new equipment positioned carefully around the room.
Things that weren't here before.
Things that make my stomach drop when I see them.
A full-length mirror, positioned at an angle where I can see myself from multiple perspectives.
Where I can watch myself from every angle during whatever comes next.
A camera on a tripod, professional-looking and expensive, its small red light already blinking steadily.
Recording.
Watching.
Documenting everything.
I stop dead in the doorway, my feet refusing to carry me further into the room. "What is that?"
"A camera." His voice is matter-of-fact, like this is completely normal.
"I can see that. Why is it here? Why is it recording?"
"Because you need to get comfortable performing while being watched. While being observed and recorded. The showcase will have an audience, Eden. Multiple people watching your every move. You need to practice with the awareness that eyes are on you. That you're being seen."
"No." I shake my head violently, backing up a step. "No, absolutely not. I'm not—I'm not being recorded. That's—what if someone sees it? What if it gets out? What if?—"
"No one will see it but me. And you, when we review your performance afterward. It's for training purposes only. So you can watch yourself, see how you look, learn what needs improvement. Understand what the audience will see."
"I don't want to watch myself doing—doing those things?—"
"Eden." He moves closer, not touching me but near enough that I can feel his presence like heat from a fire. "This is non-negotiable. The camera stays. You'll perform knowing it's recording. You'll get used to being observed, being watched, being on display. Because in seven days, you'll have a realaudience of real people. And you need to be ready for that. Need to be comfortable with it."
Tears threaten, hot and immediate behind my eyes.
I blink them back furiously. "I hate this."
"I know. But you're going to do it anyway. Because you always do what I ask. Eventually."
He's right.
