Page 14 of Hunted to Be Mine
Not technically a lie. We had been discussing his conditioning, right after he’d kissed me and told me I tasted like anger.
“Well, whatever triggered it, the physical event itself was real,” Mattie added, closing the chart. “But the recovery is unprecedented. His neural pathways should show some disruption, but they don’t. It’s like his brain has been…” She paused, searching for the right word. “Augmented, somehow.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve seen accelerated healing before. Operatives with advanced training can sometimes recover faster than civilians. But this is different.” Mattie lowered her voice. “His scans show increased activity in regions that shouldn’t be active at all after a seizure. It’s like it was rebooting rather than recovering.”
I thought about what I knew of Oblivion’s conditioning process. “They don’t just erase memories. They rewire neural circuitry completely. It’s possible they built in some kind of recovery protocol.”
“That’s terrifying,” Mattie said. “And not just from a medical perspective. If they can program people to this extent, what else can they do?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out while helping him.” I glanced at the observation window, where I could see Specter sitting up in bed, reading something on a tablet. He looked entirely normal, with no trace of the man who’d collapsed in my arms hours earlier. “Has Dawson been down to see him?”
“Briefly. Seemed more interested in the scans than the patient.”
“I know.” I finished my coffee, crushing the cup perhaps harder than necessary. “Any restrictions on continuing our sessions?”
“None from medical. I’ve cleared him physically.” Mattie’s expression softened with concern. “But as your friend rather than his doctor, I’d suggest caution. Something’s not right about how his brain processes trauma.”
The phrase settled like a stone under my ribs. “That’s exactly what Oblivion does. They don’t just break people, they rebuild them to function through the breaking.”
“Makes you wonder what they were preparing him for.” Mattie checked her watch. “I need to finish rounds. Will you be seeing him today?”
I nodded. “Once you’ve officially discharged him. I want to see if the seizure loosened any memory fragments.”
“Well, if you need backup, you know where to find me.” Mattie squeezed my arm. “And Selina? Whatever happened in that room before the seizure, if you need to talk about it, I’m here for that too.”
Her perceptiveness caught me off guard. “I’m fine. Just doing my job.”
“Right.” Mattie didn’t look convinced. “Your job that has you checking his observation window every thirty seconds while we talk.”
I hadn’t realized I was being so obvious. “Professional concern.”
“Of course.” Mattie’s smile was knowing but kind. “Just remember you’re allowed to have normal human reactions to abnormal situations. Even brilliant psychologists have them occasionally.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I glanced at my watch. “When will he be released back to his quarters?”
“I’ll sign off in an hour or so. Need to receive the results of the last blood tests.”
As Mattie walked away, I found myself alone with the chart. Through the window, I saw Specter look up and catch my stare through the glass. He offered that calculating, practiced smile that had preceded both his kiss and his collapse. It annoyed me.
I pushed open the door to Specter’s room, clipboard tucked under my arm like armor. He was already watching me, sprawled across the hospital bed with infuriating ease, legs stretched out, one arm behind his head. The standard-issue hospital gown should have made him look vulnerable. Instead, he wore it like expensive loungewear, the thin fabric somehow emphasizing rather than diminishing the coiled strength beneath.
His crooked smile appeared before I’d even fully closed the door behind me.
“Doctor Crawford. Came to check if my brain’s scrambled? Or just couldn’t stay away?” The words were light, teasing, but his attention tracked my movements, intent.
I maintained a neutral expression, though irritation prickled under my skin. Hours ago, this man had collapsed in my arms, seizing uncontrollably. Now he lounged like a patient with a minor cold, that same calculating gleam as if nothing had happened.
“I see your condition hasn’t affected your charm,” I added, placing my files on the bedside table with deliberate control. “How are you feeling?”
“Bored.” He shifted, the movement fluid and contained. “Though things are looking up now.”
His attention traveled down my body in a deliberate assessment, lingering just long enough to be inappropriate without being overtly offensive. I recognized the tactic, establishing dominance through subtle sexualization. The same move he’d used yesterday before his collapse.
I refused to react. “Dr. Prieto tells me your scans came back clear.”
He tapped his temple. “Whatever’s broken in here doesn’t show up on their machines. Disappointing, isn’t it? Would be so much easier if they could just… cut it out.”
