Page 124 of Sin Like the Devil

Incendia Corporation under investigation by Sabre Security.

Allegations of abuse and malpractice across Britain’s six institutes.

“I see a problem for you.” I shrug. “Not me.”

Bancroft swipes a hand over his silvery coiffure. “Do you think the authorities would agree with that assessment when they hear what you’ve done on our payroll?”

“I don’t get paid. You’re the ones profiting.”

“Your continued survival is not payment?” he challenges. “You could have been disposed of long ago. But we maintained Jonathan’s request to keep your situation quiet and… controlled.”

The newspaper judders in my hands. I lay it down, attempting to disguise the fine tremble.

“Ah, now you get it.” Bancroft observes my obvious nerves. “Uncle’s protection has expired, hasn’t it? I am surprised that his patience for your continued disruptions has lasted this long.”

“Disruptions?” I repeat.

“If only his colleagues and investors knew that his very own niece was confined to the institute he endorses. Rather embarrassing, isn’t it?”

I want to shrivel up and disappear. But I won’t give him the satisfaction of humiliating me. So I decide to parrot the disgruntled warden watching our exchange.

“Cut the shit. If you’re going to threaten me, get on with it.”

“I have no need to threaten you, Ripley. Look around at where you are. If Harrowdean falls, don’t doubt that we will all fall with it.”

The broken part of me that’s endured the cost of surviving the past two years wants to throw open the fucking gates and let the authorities march in here. For the lives I’ve exploited, I owe them that much.

He’s right, though.

The world needs a scapegoat. As humans, we assign an outlet for our rage long before we think of compassion. It’ll come down to blame. Incendia won’t protect me from the wolves. We will burn together.

I’ve come too far to let their crumbling empire take me down. Sacrificed too much. I didn’t care that a different Ripley would be leaving those gates, as long as I walked out at all. So I wilfully destroyed the person I was to become the person they needed.

The stooge.

The instigator.

The blame.

“What do you want me to do?” I grit out.

“Sir, I really must insist?—”

“Enough,” Bancroft cuts the warden off. “Ripley has proven herself to be an asset despite recent transgressions. These are dangerous times. We cannot squander loyalty.”

Gaze catching on the nearest newspaper, I study the mugshot of an escaped detainee from Blackwood Institute. Another chess piece in this eternal game of moves and counter moves.

Staring into the dead-eyed stare of Brooklyn West, the so-called instigator of the riot that engulfed Harrowdean’s sister branch, I wonder what this stranger would do in my position. If she’d tell me to let it all burn, even if that included myself.

“Help us weather this storm, Ripley. Control the patient population. Manipulate. Instill fear. Exploit. If Harrowdean survives, you will have your freedom.”

“And if I refuse to play my part?”

His wrinkled mouth pulls taut. “You will make an excellent addition to the professor’s Z wing program. I do hate wasted potential. But repurposing? Now that’s just good business.”

I look into Bancroft’s eyes. Full of challenge and determination. He isn’t afraid—monsters with power and money never are. This world will always be institutionally weighted in their favour. People like us are the foundation of their empires.

I’ll be his weapon.

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