"I'm counting on it." Webb moves closer, peers down at me with clinical interest. "That's the whole point, you see. Jace Harrison is the most efficient killer we've ever produced. Fifteen years of perfect service, two hundred and seventeen confirmed eliminations, zero emotional attachments." He tilts his head. "And then you came along."
He reaches out, touches the bite mark on my neck. His finger is cold through the glove.
"He marked you," Webb observes. "That's interesting. The Foundry trains that impulse out of them, usually. The desire to claim, to possess, to leave evidence of attachment." He presses harder, and I hiss at the pain. "But not Jace, apparently. Something in his conditioning has... degraded."
"He's not degraded." I don't know where the words come from. Some suicidal impulse that makes me speak when I should stay silent. "He's just different."
"Different is another word for broken." Webb withdraws his hand, examines his gloved finger like he's checking for contamination. "And broken tools get repaired or replaced. It's the way of things."
He turns, walks to a table I can't see, and returns with something in his hands.
A collar.
Not a simple restraint. This one has electronics embedded in it, small lights that blink in sequence, a control mechanism that looks like something out of a nightmare.
"This is a compliance device," Webb explains, holding it up so I can see. "Standard issue for assets who require... adjustment. It delivers an electrical current directly to the nervous system. Low settings cause pain. Medium settings cause paralysis. High settings cause death." He smiles again. "I'm told the experience is quite unpleasant."
He moves toward me with the collar.
I thrash against the restraints, pull until my wrists bleed, scream until my throat tears.
It doesn't matter.
The collar clicks into place around my neck. Cold metal against the bite mark Jace left, pressing down on the bruise, erasing his claim with its own.
Webb steps back, examines his work.
"There," he says. "Now we wait."
"For what?"
"For your Reaper to come and get you." He picks up the tablet again, taps something on the screen. "I've sent him your location. Along with a simple ultimatum: surrender himself for reconditioning, or watch you die."
My blood goes cold. "He won't—"
"He will." Webb's voice is certain. "That's what makes this so elegant. A month ago, Jace Harrison would have calculated the odds, assessed the risks, and walked away. You're not worth dying for, objectively speaking. You're a broken asset with no value, no skills, no future."
He leans in close, close enough that I can smell the antiseptic on his breath.
"But he'll come anyway. Because whatever's broken in him has made you valuable beyond calculation. And that, Elliot Rowe, is exactly what I need to prove."
He straightens, tucks the tablet under his arm, and walks toward the door.
"Make yourself comfortable," he says without looking back. "This might take a while."
The door closes behind him.
And I'm alone.
Strapped to a table. Collar around my neck. Waiting for my monster to save me from other monsters.
Jace,I think.Don't come. Please don't come. It's a trap.
But even as I think it, I know he will.
He'll come because I'm his.
And he'll walk into whatever Webb has planned because giving me up isn't something he can do anymore.
