Page 28 of Glass Rose
“A monster.”
“You saved me. Twice.”
SEVEN
SOFIA
A dark laugh escapes him. “Maybe saving pretty scientists is part of my plan.”
“I’m not?—”
“You are.”
“A pretty scientist who tortured you.”
“You weren’t the worst.”
“High praise.” I shove the supplies back into the first aid kit. “Sorry if I don’t frame that testimonial for my non-existent office wall.”
“You talked to me. Like I was still human. When you ran tests, you'd explain what you were doing. Asked if I was in pain. Small things. Some of them…” He shifts behind me. “They’d cut into me like I was already dead. Small things are what kept me sane.”
I remember those sessions, how I’d narrate each procedure while my colleagues rolled their eyes. A pointless courtesy, they’d called it.
"That doesn't make up for?—"
“No.” His lips graze my ear. “But it made it different.”
“Is that why you saved me?”
His eyes meet mine in the mirror. Not answering. The bathroom suddenly feels too small, his welcomed body heat radiating against my back.
“Don’t go all silent now.” I whip around. “You’ve been plenty talkative about everything else.”
“Would you believe me if I said I don’t know?” He steps back, giving me space. “Instinct. Muscle memory from before.”
“Why stick around then?” The question slips out before I can stop it. “With me, I mean. You could’ve gone anywhere after the facility.”
“Because someone needs to put a bullet in my head if I turn out to be something worse than what we’re running from.”
“What the—” My mouth hangs open. “You want me to kill you? That’s what this is about?”
“If necessary.”
“If necessary,” I repeat, the words hollow in my mouth. “And I’m supposed to, what? Just decide when you’ve crossed some imaginary line?”
“Are you ready?”
“For what? The apocalypse? Killing zombies? Putting a bullet in your head if you go dark side?” My laugh comes out broken. “No. Not even close.”
“To leave this house.” One corner of his mouth lifts. “We need to go.”
“Oh.” Heat crawls up my neck. “Right.”
He nods, and we move toward the stairs. Each step down feels like sinking deeper into quicksand, and the metallic scent of blood grows stronger. Photos of family vacations, graduations, and my parents’ wedding day stare back at me. Snapshots of a life that doesn’t exist anymore.
My lungs constrict, refusing air. Gavin’s hand finds the small of my back, a gentle pressure guiding me forward.
“We don’t have to go back in there,” he says.
