"Your acquisition records. Medical history. Handler logs." I turn to face him. "I need to understand what Moore did to you. In detail."
His face loses color. I watch the blood drain from his cheeks, track the way his hands tighten on his knees.
"Why?"
"Because the Ministry wants proof that you have value. And the only value you have is the information in your head." I pause. "I need to know what's in there before they decide to extract it themselves."
"Extract it how?"
"There are methods."
He doesn't ask what methods. He's smart enough to fill in the blanks.
"I don't remember most of it," he says. His voice is small. "I... I wasn't there. When it happened. I went somewhere else."
"Dissociation. It's a common trauma response."
"Is that what it's called?" A hollow laugh. "I always just thought of it as leaving."
"The memories are still there. Stored in your subconscious. With the right techniques, they can be accessed."
"The right techniques?" His voice sharpens. "You mean torture."
"I mean guided recall. Controlled conditions. Safe parameters."
"Who decides what's safe?"
"I do."
He stares at me. I watch the fear flicker in his eyes, followed by something else. Something that looks almost like hope.
"You'd do that? Help me remember?"
"I would help you access the information in a way that doesn't destroy you." I stand, cross to the couch, sit on the opposite end. Still maintaining distance. Still giving him space. "TheMinistry's methods are not gentle. They don't care about preservation. They care about extraction."
"And you care about preservation?"
The question catches me off guard. I consider it.
"I care about keeping you functional," I say finally. "That requires preservation."
He's quiet for a long moment. Then he unfolds his legs, shifts closer on the couch. Not touching, but near enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body.
"What do you need me to remember?"
"Everything you know about Moore's operation. Safe houses. Communication protocols. Financial channels. Personnel."
"I was property. They didn't tell me things."
"But you observed. You listened. You survived for eighteen months in an environment designed to break you." I turn to face him fully. "You know more than you think you do."
He considers this. I watch him process, file, organize.
"When do we start?" he asks.
"Tomorrow. After I've prepared."
"Prepared what?"
