"No. But let's do it anyway."
The showcase hall is exactly as grotesque as I remember from previous events.
It's set up like a theater.
Rows of plush seats arranged in a semicircle.
At the center, a raised platform with dramatic lighting.
Like a stage for a performance.
Which is exactly what it is.
The platform is covered in dark hardwood.
Spotlights positioned to illuminate whoever stands there while leaving the audience in relative shadow.
There's furniture on the platform—a bench, a chair, some kind of cushioned platform low to the ground.
Props. For the acquisitions to perform on.
My stomach turns.
The seats are filling.
Consortium members settling in with their acquisitions either beside them or kneeling at their feet.
Everyone murmuring to each other.
Anticipation in the air like electricity.
Victor takes a seat in the front row center.
The place of honor.
Beside him is Richard, the estate's owner.
And beside Richard are the other inner circle members I recognize.
This is their world. Their kingdom. And tonight I was supposed to join them.
I lead Eden to seats in the third row.
Not too close, not too far back.
I want them to see us clearly when the moment comes.
"Vaughn," Eden whispers. "I'm scared."
"I know. So am I."
"What if they?—"
"They won't. I won't let them. Whatever happens, we're leaving here together. I promise."
Victor stands. The room quiets immediately.
"Welcome," he says, his voice carrying easily without a microphone. Probably acoustics designed into the room for exactly this purpose. "Welcome to the spring showcase. As always, this is an opportunity for our members to demonstrate their skill in acquisition and training. To share best practices. To celebrate the art of consensual submission."
