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I don’t have the heart to tell her he’s just a bad guy. She’s too close to the situation to see it clearly.

Although some may say the same about the dynamic between Cain and me.

“Get up.” We both jump, and I turn. Marcus stands in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. Daphne’s chest sinks with an exhale, and she sets her tea aside. “Not you, Little Bird. Violet.” I suck down the rest of my tea, wincing as the hot water burns my throat.

“Wait—where are you taking her?” Daphne grabs my arm.

“Back to town.” My heart jumps at his words. He’s taking me home?

Daphne swallows, her head tilted down as her hand drops from my arm. “I’m happy for you,” she whispers. I bend over and hug her, then straighten up and follow Marcus out the door.

My heart beats faster with every passing minute as we pass street signs and shops that I’m familiar with. I’m ready to fly out the door when he stops by the infirmary entrance.

“Thank you, thank you so much.” I grab the handle, and it’s locked. My stomach sinks. “Marcus, the door?” He steps out and opens it for me.

“Walk in front of me. None of your games.” His words are cold.

He’s not letting me go.

I get out and take my place in front of him. He guides me into my own home, walking me like an executioner guiding the condemned.

Don’t fight now. Wait for your opportunity.

Of course he wouldn’t let me go when I’d seen Daphne.

We walk through the back entry and through the staff-only halls. My palms turn cold and clammy as we approach Dr. Frolov, standing at the threshold of the smaller OR. We don’t use this room for much more than a supply closet. Dr. Frolov’s blonde hair is disheveled, and dark bags hang under his eyes. His eyes widen when he sees me.

Maybe he needed assistance and knew where to call for me. I try to reassure myself.

“Violet—”

“Something different?” I ask, running my fingertips over my short hair and scalp, turning my head side to side as if nothing has changed. He clears his throat and stands to the side. Marcus shoves at my shoulder, and I step inside.

No…

The electric vacuum aspirator sits next to the foot of the operating table. A suction cannula, forceps, and curette are on the tray.

My breathing picks up, my head light.

This isn’t my execution.

“No.” I turn, meeting Dr. Frolov’s gaze. He takes a deep breath.

“Lay on the table, Violet…”

“No!” I roar as I shoulder past him and storm towards Marcus. My head is high, and my shoulders square; he’s taller than me, but I stare down my nose at him. “Move,” I say as I push into his space. We stare at each other for a beat, then he grabs my shoulders and starts walking me back to the table.

“Ugh!” I grunt as I throw myself to the side, grab a scalpel from the shelf, and thrust it down into Marcus’s shoulder.

“Ah!” He shoves me, and I fall back into the table. I shuffle to gather my feet beneath me, then their hands are on me again; Frolov on my right, and Marcus on my left.

“Let me go!” I yell as I thrash, shoving my shoulders, clawing at their arms, kicking my legs. “I said no!” One at a time, they strap my arms to the table, a strap around my chest, my legs. Stap after strap until there’s no point in movement anymore.

“Call me when it’s done,” Marcus says, then he walks out and slams the door behind him.

“Grigori.” I fight to say his name through my tightening chest and the threat of tears. This man was the only father figure I ever had. The man who taught me medicine. My mentor. The man who watched me grow as I lived in the infirmary with my unresponsive mother. “Grigori, please… Don’t do this.” His weak eyes look up at me as he takes his seat between my legs at the end of the table.

“I have to.” He flips the vacuum on, and the high mechanical hum echoes in the small space around us.