Page 49 of Monsters Like Us
My gut goes cold. Whispers from Holloway crawl back into my head. Vale leaving his last position under a cloud of “unethical practices.” Rumors of patients harmed beyond repair.
Watching that hulking chamber roll to a stop in front of us, I believe every word.
Vale’s eyes glitter with anticipation as he sets the machine in place. Then, as if this were a typical day, he casually goes back upstairs, leaving Corinne behind.
Her presence fills the room differently than his—he storms in with cruelty sharp as a blade, but she glides with a nurse’s calm, her violence disguised as care. She moves through the space like she owns it, checking the straps on the table, adjusting the dials on the new machine, tidying the tray Valeleft behind. Clinical. Efficient. Humming under her breath with something soft and tuneless that makes my teeth grind.
Katana shrinks against the wall, but I watch.
When Corinne crouches to wipe a streak of blood from the concrete, her key ring slips from her belt and clatters against the floor. She curses softly, scooping them up—but not before I’ve counted three brass keys and one silver. The silver she clips back on faster than the others. It’s important.
She doesn’t notice me noticing. That’s her first mistake.
Her second comes when she sets a capped syringe down on the edge of the table, distracted by the chart she pulls from the wall. She leaves it there when she turns to go, her mind already upstairs, the tray under her arm.
The syringe gleams faintly in the fluorescent light. I memorize the spot, the angle, the distance from where I sit.
The door shuts, the lock scraping home.
Katana exhales shakily, like she’s been holding her breath the whole time. “Micah?—”
“Not now.” My voice is low and hard. My eyes stay fixed on the syringe on the table.
She follows my stare, confusion flickering across her face.
But I don’t explain. Not yet.
I lean back against the pipe, shifting my weight slowly and deliberately. Testing the chain where it bites my wrist. Feeling for the give I swear I heard last time when I pulled too hard.
A whisper of sound—just the faintest groan of metal. Most people wouldn’t notice it, but I do.
It’s an opportunity.
And opportunities are how cages break.
Corinne lingersa moment longer than usual. She smooths the sheet on the table like she’s prepping an examroom, not a dungeon. Then she pulls a penlight from her pocket and tilts Katana’s chin up, flashing the beam over her pupils with clinical detachment.
Katana flinches but doesn’t jerk away. She’s watching Corinne with a careful look, testing how close she can get without being bitten.
“Your pulse is steady,” Corinne murmurs. “That’s good.”
“Why?” Katana asks. Her voice is low, but I hear it. “Why are you doing this?”
For the first time, Corinne’s hum falters. She tucks the penlight away, a small crease appearing between her brows. “Structure keeps people safe,” she says finally. “Routine prevents… escalation.”
She glances at the machine like she’s checking herself, then snaps back into her calm mask and straightens. “Eat something when I bring it down,” she adds. “You’ll need the energy.”
Corinne pivots toward the stairs, her tray tucked under one arm, but as she does, her hip clips the edge of the steel table. The tray rattles and spills, items scattering across the floor with a metallic clatter.
The syringe rolls farther than the rest, glinting faintly under the buzzing light as it spins to a stop a few feet from me. Corinne curses softly, kneels to scoop up a few clamps, and tucks them back on her tray—but she doesn’t notice the syringe. By the time she straightens, it’s still lying there, gleaming like a secret.
She hums, distracted, and leaves without another glance. The door scrapes shut, the lock sliding home.
Katana exhales, her breath shaky. “Micah?—”
“I know.” My voice drops low, not a growl, but a promise. “We’re going to use this. I won’t let them touch you again.”
Her head jerks toward me, hazel eyeswide. “You think?—”
