“What did they tell you to do if I didn’t answer?” I ask, and my voice stays calm only because I force it.
She bites her lip. “They said I should…make you comfortable.”
I bark a laugh. “And if that doesn’t work?”
Her eyes flick away. “They said there would be…adjustments.”
The room’s hum seems louder suddenly, like it’s leaning in to listen.
I step closer, just enough to bring my voice down. “Lena. Listen to me. They are using you as a tool.”
She flinches as if I’ve struck her, then nods quickly, tears gathering again. “I know.”
“No,” I say softly. “You know it in your head. You don’t know it in your body yet. In your body, you still think if you do what they want, you can protect Sam.”
Her breath stutters.
“And maybe you can,” I add, because I won’t lie to her. “But you need to understand the cost. They will make you hurt me. And they will make me comfort you for it. That’s the game.”
Her eyes search my face, horrified. “I don’t want to.”
“I believe you,” I say, and something in my chest twists with the familiar urge to reassure. “That’s why it works.”
She shakes her head. “What do I do?”
The question is the trap. If I tell her, I become the source of safety. If she follows my guidance, she bonds to me. If she bonds to me, they can threaten her to control me.
They have designed the room to create an attachment. This space is new. Their manipulation tactics are not.
My hands shake slightly. I curl them into fists to hide it.
“Ask your questions,” I say finally. “And when they tell you to make me comfortable, don’t. Not the way they want.”
Her brow furrows. “Then how?”
“Truth,” I say. “Be honest. Tell me when they’re listening. Tell me when they’ve threatened you. Don’t soothe. Don’t pretend. Don’t give them a performance.”
She swallows. “They’ll punish me.”
“Maybe,” I say, and my voice tightens. “But if you perform, they’ll punish both of us later. They’ll just call it data.”
She nods slowly, then wipes her cheeks again, trying to compose herself.
She takes a breath. “Alright. They want to know why you defied them.”
I stare at her.
There are answers I could give that are true enough to satisfy them. There are answers that would protect the others. There are answers that would damn us all.
The warmth of the room presses in. I can almost feel the systems behind the walls, waiting, hungry.
“Because,” I say carefully, “there’s a line. And they crossed it.”
Lena’s eyes flick to the ceiling. I don’t miss it.
“Can you be more specific?” she asks, and her voice has the faintest edge of rehearsed tone now, like she’s repeating a line she’s been told will get better results.
I hate the way my body responds with a rush of protectiveness. Not only for her. For myself. For the part of me that wants her to be real and safe and not a blade aimed at my throat.
