Page 83 of Peak Cruelty

“Back where you belong,” someone says.The voice is syrupy.Not sweet.The kind that sticks to your teeth.

I blink, and the shape in front of me sharpens.

Robert.

He crouches, balancing on the balls of his feet like we’re old friends catching up.His smile is easy.Familiar.Wrong.

“You got lost,” he says, as if it’s a joke we’re both in on.“But that’s okay.I found you.”

I don’t respond.Not out of defiance.Just logistics.My jaw doesn’t want to move.

“You look tired,” he says, studying my face.“That life didn’t suit you, huh?”

He brushes a strand of hair from my face.Gentle.That’s the trick.He always starts soft.

“You had me worried,” he says.“People said things.That you ran.That you forgot where home was.”

He sighs, deep and theatrical.“But I knew better.I said, 'Not my Marlowe.Not my girl.'Because you’re loyal.You know what it means to owe.”

His hand shifts.Not the hair this time.My cheek.

“You do know what it means to owe, don’t you?”

The fog lifts just enough for me to nod.

He grins.“Good.”

Then he stands.

“She needs a reminder,” he says to someone behind me.“Nothing that shows.Not yet.”

And then I’m alone.

Except I’m not.

Footsteps circle.The chair creaks under my weight.Under theirs.Hands grip my shoulders.Something sharp presses into my arm.

Warmth floods in.Not comfort.Just chemical.Whatever they gave me last time, this is worse.

Time folds.

When I wake again, the chair is gone.The walls are wrong.I’m on the floor.Face sticky with blood or sweat or both.

Someone steps over me.

“You’re not going to die,” a voice says.“But you are going to wish you had.”

They don’t lie.

Hours pass.Or maybe days.I stop trying to track them.

Pain doesn’t come in waves here.It comes in drills.In wires.In silence.

No one comes unless it’s on purpose.No one speaks unless it’s to shape me.

They want me quiet.Not because they need it.Because it makes them feel bigger.Powerful.

And I give them what they want.Because I know the rules.

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