The one thing he left me.
The one thing they haven’t taken.
I snap it open with a flick of my wrist and press the cold edge against the doctor’s throat.
The orderlies freeze.
I feel the power return—not Reaper strength, not yet. But resolve. Steel. Fury.
“You dare bring your hands near me in my own house?” I hiss. “You think you can cage me like an animal?”
The doctor stammers. “M-my lady, I was only instructed?—”
“I am still the Lady of this House,” I say, voice trembling but fierce. “And if you ever come near me again, I will show you exactly what that means.”
The blade hovers against his skin. Close enough that he can feel the heat of my breath.
He nods slowly. Swallows. Then gestures for the orderlies to back down.
They do.
Smart men.
I step away, blade still raised, never turning my back on them as I retreat down the corridor.
My hands shake once I’m alone again. But I don’t cry. Not this time.
I can’t live like this.
Chelsea can’t live like this.
He’s made it clear—she’s a project to him now. A specimen. Something to be catalogued and sterilized and brought to heel.
I won’t let that happen.
That night, in my chambers, I sketch out maps. Old blueprints. Access routes. Estate tunnels they sealed after the war, thinking they’d never be needed again.
I find them.
I study them.
I mark paths.
I memorize.
Because I’m going to take her. One night, one breath, one slip of the knife, and I will be gone.
I won’t survive long outside the estate. I know that. I’m watched, monitored, collared by wealth and scrutiny and Frederick’s damned reach.
But I don’t need long.
I only need a head start.
Long enough to find someone who still owes me a favor. Long enough to reach the Matron, or a smuggler, or anyone who can get us off Earth.
Somewhere the IHC doesn’t reach. Somewhere she can grow up without being hunted.
Somewhere we can breathe.
