He used me to test a system that turns choice into illusion. Desire into programming. Love and obsession into a goddamn trigger mechanism.
And I let him. I want to rip the memories out of my skin. Scrub his fingerprints from my soul. But they’re etched too deep.
He didn’t test it on me. No. He never would’ve needed to.
I gave him everything willingly. My body. My trust. My belief in who he was. In who we were.
And he used me—not as a subject, but as an example. As the proof of concept. As inspiration.
He built this horror beside me while I slept in his bed.
He let me believe I was helping people, that Zephyra was about liberation, about clarity, and about freedom from the chaos. But this… this is far from freedom.
I don’t remember standing. Or walking. But somehow I’m at the edge of the lab, outside the checkpoint, and Maverick is there—like he always is.
“Vi?” He stiffens.
I hand him the folder. “Give this to Asher.”
He opens it. Eyes scan the front page. He pales. “What the fuck is this?”
“You tell me.” My voice is hoarse. “Because I don’t know if this is who he’s always been, or if I was just the excuse he needed to go this far. Either way, I’m done.”
Maverick doesn’t answer right away. His brow furrows like he’s seeing the pages for the first time. "I’ve never seen this."
I nod slowly. "Then you should know what kind of man you’re protecting." “And this,” I say, unclasping the necklace and holding it in my palm. It’s warm from my skin. Familiar. Heavy with meaning I can’t afford to carry anymore.
It takes everything in me to let it slide from my fingers along with all my hopes of what could have been.
The chain hits his hand with a soft metallic clink, and I feel something inside me go with it.
He reaches out, instinctive. But I step back.
“Violet—”
“Tell him the drug worked. I did what was required.”
He flinches.
“Tell him I hope it was worth it. Because whatever he wanted to prove? He did. I’m done.”
Maverick’s jaw clenches. His whole body is taut, unreadable. “I didn’t know. I swear to you—I never saw this. And if he did this to you…” He stops himself. Grits his teeth. Doesn’t finish. Because even now, he’s loyal. “I’m sorry,” he says finally.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Me too.”
I don’t wait for Dorian. I don’t wait for permission.
I push through the lab’s front doors and into the storm.
The rain soaks me instantly, cold and relentless. People rush past under umbrellas, but I don’t care. I don’t even lift my hood.
I walk.
One block.
Then two.
I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t have a plan. Just my purse. A half-dead phone. Maybe forty bucks in my bank account.
