Page 95 of Hunted to Be Mine
“Water would be nice.” The words scraped. “Whatever you dosed me with dries you out.”
After a beat, he moved to a side table, poured from a crystal decanter, and brought the glass closer. He stopped short and held it out.
I took it without touching him. “Thanks.” A sip cooled my mouth. I watched him over the rim. “So you do respond to requests. Good to know.”
He returned to the door and became a statue again.
I cataloged him: dark hair cut short; green eyes that showed nothing; a face that could’ve been handsome once, now flat, as if the small muscles that make a face human had been switched off.
“I’ve studied programs like the one used on you.” I kept it casual on purpose. “Rewiring pathways, dampening emotion, wiping personal memory and leaving skills intact.”
He stared at a point above me.
“How’d they do it in your case?” Another drink. “Quinta techniques are supposed to be advanced. Clean reconstruction. Makes earlier versions look like lab prototypes.”
No response.
I set the glass down and stood slowly. The room tilted, then steadied. “They hollowed out Xavier Hale and made something else.” One slow step closed some of the distance. “I wonder if anything’s left.”
His eyes tracked me. His body didn’t shift.
“Memory suppression leaks.” I edged nearer. “Primitive systems resist. Attachment. You might not remember, but some part of you knows something important’s missing.”
A small tightening at his jaw. Maybe.
I pressed. “The body keeps what the mind loses. That’s why they have to keep reinforcing it. Skip the maintenance and cracks show.”
I stopped close enough to read his breathing and the pulse at his throat.
“Your sister misses you,” I said quietly. “Maeve. She’s still looking.”
A tiny hitch in his breath. Gone in an instant. The mask reset.
“Is Dresner taking good care of his pet project?” I asked, shifting lanes. “Or did he hand you off to a new handler after Brock died?”
No reaction to Brock. At Dresner, his pupils ticked wider.
“I’d bet you’re valuable. Showcase material.” I circled, careful to stay out of reach. “Do you ever wonder why they picked you? What made Xavier Hale worth the resources to turn into Blackout?”
His head moved a fraction so I stayed in his line of sight.
“It must be exhausting,” I said, stopping in front of him again. “Holding that much control every second. No feeling. No questions. No memory.”
He spoke for the first time, voice even, flat. “You should rest. The Director will see you soon.”
The sound startled after all that silence. Deep voice, stripped of inflection. Scripted.
“The Director.” I let the title sit. “Dresner himself? I’m flattered.”
“Rest,” he said again. An order.
I smiled like my pulse wasn’t spiking. “I’ve been resting. I’d rather talk. I don’t often get someone like you across the room. Professional curiosity.”
His eyes narrowed a hair. “There is nothing to discuss.”
“On the contrary.” I gestured at the room. “Apparently, I rate this and a personal guard. Worth discussing.”
He offered nothing.
