Page 13 of Ravaged By the Reaper
He narrows his eyes, but I see the shadow of hesitation behind them. I twist the knife.
“I’ve worked with generals, you know. Real ones. Ones who could command an army and a lover with equal skill. Men who didn’t need torture to get what they wanted.”
“You speak as if your body is still yours.”
I smile again, this time baring teeth. “It is. Even now. You haven’t taken it. And youwon’t.”
That gets him. He stands. Walks the perimeter of the room with a predator’s slow glide. I let my gaze follow him. Not afraid. Not broken.
I slip into Companion mode full now—shoulders rolled back, voice low, intimate. Every inch of my posture is bait.
“You’re curious about me,” I say softly. “Don’t deny it. That’s why you’re here every cycle, watching the extractor work.”
“I’m verifying data.”
“Sure,” I breathe. “Youcouldsend a drone. A lab tech. But you don’t. Youwantto see what makes me tick. Maybe eventouchthe gears yourself.”
He stops beside my hip, just outside reach. “You forget your position.”
“Never. I’m quite aware I’m restrained, drugged, and mentally violated. But it’s not my position I forget—it’s yours. What are you, Malem? A scientist? A priest? Or just a voyeur?”
A beat. Then, “You talk too much.”
“Maybe. Or maybe you’ve just never been spoken to by someone who doesn’t fear you.”
His fingers twitch again. He doesn't touch me—but I know he wants to.
That's enough.
I feign a flinch, just slight, curling in on myself. “If you’re going to kill me,” I whisper, trembling lip and all, “do it. But if you’re going to keep playing this… at least let me sit up.”
“No.”
“You get more from me when I’m lucid.” My voice is silk over steel. “You’ve seen the fluctuations. Every memory I plant cleanly is a performance. You want clarity? Let meperform.”
He says nothing for a long moment. Then, “Rest. The next cycle begins shortly.”
He turns and leaves, but his pace is slower than usual.
When the door slides shut, I exhale hard, ribs screaming in protest.
He’sbuying it.
I tuck another fake memory into the forefront of my thoughts. This one full of lies and lace. I smear it with longing, bathe it in artificial pain, lace it with hints of betrayal that lead nowhere.
If I do this right, he’ll be chasing shadows for hours.
I may not be able to fight with fists—but Icanwith stories.
He wants to break me?
He’s going to drown in every fake tale I’ve ever invented.
Let the next cycle come.
I’m ready.
CHAPTER 4
