How many times had missing girls, failed subjects, breeding candidates, witches, omegas, rogues, and stolen daughters whispered it around restraints while Seven wrote clinical notes with steady hands?
Please.
Elevated vocal distress.
Please.
Resistance weakening.
Please.
Sedation required.
He approached slowly.
Seven squeezed his eyes shut.
Interesting.
Even now, the man expected violence to be crude.
A strike.
A blade.
A punishment loud enough to match the alarms.
He stopped in front of him and reached for Seven’s collar.
The sorry excuse of a doctor went rigid.
His coat was crooked.
Unacceptable.
He straightened one side, then the other, smoothing the torn fabric with almost gentle fingers. Blood had dried along the lapel in a rust-colored smear. Dust clung to the shoul
