Katsy was a self-absorbed gossip who got her kicks by manipulating her mediocre power over others. Her compliance was too easy; a few well-placed compliments and flattering remarks, and she was lapping that shit up like it wasn’t laced with poison.

Fern’s intimidating bulk shadowed the doorway, searching the crowd, zeroing in on Ace. “Cooks, Dr Mudlark has requested your presence in the basement.”

Terror electrified the air, sending uncontrollable shockwaves coursing through my veins. My senses lay hostage to the eruption of thoughts and emotions I absorbed from others around me; some relieved, others concerned, most filled with pity and fear.

Ace remained cowering in his seat, ignoring the request.

Fern sneered and launched his way, ready to physically drag him out by his hair. Distantly, I processed my body moving, my mind reeling to tackle my Variant into submission.

As Fern reached out to grab Ace, I was there, my fingers tightening on his outstretched wrist before he could make contact.

“Leave him.” My command was irrefutable.

I couldn’t stand touching him, and he couldn’t stand being challenged in front of a room full of his victims. I didn’t care, my eyes boring into his with that exact message. I refused to let go until he took the initiative to retreat a few steps, finding his composure.

A wordless battle, witnessed by the frozen crowd at my back.

“Dr Mudlark has prepared his treatment in the basement. He’s expected.”

I heard a whimper, which made me stand taller. “Ace Cooks is my patient, and I’ve not been informed of any plan or intervention. He will not be receiving treatment today, or any other day, until I myself provide approval.”

Fern clenched his jaw. “If you can inform Dr Mudlark tha—"

“No. You can inform him. If he has any issues, he can come to me directly.”

Fern hardly composed his spiralling rage. Turning on his heel, he stormed out the door. I was yet to meet the head psychiatrist, Dr Mudlark. For an enclosed facility, he was a hard man to find, appointments booked back to back. I questioned if he existed at all.

Background noise filtered back into awareness as I ignored the stares, veering for the exit myself.

Katsy awaited me there, her stupid, smiling face chipper as ever. “Don’t fret, Olivia. These men can’t help but be brutish, can they? There are much better ways—easier ways—to manage the inmates.” I lifted a brow at the audacity. She really had no insight whatsoever. She lowered her voice in a conspiratorial whisper. “Let me give you some advice. I’ve found the best way to make them behave is a reward system.”

“Like they’re toddlers?”

“Exactly. Take something away until they behave, then you can reward them by giving something in return. They’ll do whatever you ask.”

“And what do you ask for, Katsy?” My tone was lined with malevolence.

Katsy blushed, biting the inside of her cheek. With her aura emanating straight carnal lust, she practically screamed her indecent proclivities.

I made my escape, fed up with this farce. I had to get out before she was the subject of my own proclivity—to fucking murder.

I climbed high. Searching for a place of solitude, away from every single soul, where my faculties weren’t ambushed by toxic energy. Unintentionally, I found myself outside on the main parapets of the castle, the rain subsiding for a short while. Leaning back against one of the circular towers, I closed my eyes.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

I didn’t know how long I remained in that position when the sharp hint of nicotine coated my nostrils. My eyes fluttered open to Psycho casually leaning against the battlements, perusing the courtyard below, ignoring my presence entirely.

I utilised the opportunity to study him, since that’s all I was good for these days.

Psycho held a cold exterior, a firm expression settled in place, the perfect picture of mindless detachment.

In my dash for escape I had buried my Variant low, so fucking deep to escape the overwhelming rush of being drowned in corrupt filth.

Up there, amongst the clouds, I was content, able to breathe air back into my laboured lungs and filter out the poison from my overdosed system.

PSYCHO

I found her on the castle parapets. Eyes closed, face peaceful, demeanour calm.

I’d noticed immediately that her injuries had disappeared, as if our previous encounter never happened, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.

The cut on my throat was still healing. It seemed unfair for her to leave her mark without mine to reciprocate.

Oh, how I desperately want to mark her golden skin.

They were all hidden now, but I’d never forget how every inch of her was covered in self-inflicted art. I was more than happy to explore her body for a space where I could stamp my own.

I kept on replaying her outburst in the games room. Was the homicidal intent that flashed in her eyes a figment of my imagination that I’d conjured on my own? I desperately hoped it was true. The fumes from her murderous glance towards Fern and Katsy made me fucking lightheaded and giddy.

I couldn’t figure her out. Her defence of Cookie, intervening on his behalf, made me question everything.

Her nostrils twitched, alerting me out of my stupor. I shifted my gaze before she caught me staring. We were in stasis, neither one acknowledging the other. After a time, my resolve withered.

Just one look. Surely I can withstand a single glance.

My eyes involuntarily flicked in her direction to find her heading towards the open door to descend back into hell. I couldn’t let her walk away without some form of recognition.

“Don’t let them catch you slipping,” I called, providing a word of caution, a vital piece of advice. If given a chance, any person in this joint would use that vulnerability to crush her into the ground. For some unknown reason, I couldn’t stand the thought of that happening.

Her step paused, the only acknowledgement she’d heard the words as they drifted on the wind.

Chapter 6Micah

Ace joined me in my office, his lanky form dragging his feet along the floor. He had dark shadows beneath his teal eyes and his dirty blonde hair was spiked in disarray.

Externally, he portrayed a dishevelled teenager, which meant he was regularly underestimated. Ace was clever, his sharp mind constantly ticking over, hidden by his unimposing façade. He was quiet, however, extremely observant—seeing and hearing more than most.

His one tell was a worn silver lighter he was never seen without (empty of gas and virtually useless), which he compulsively flicked open and closed.

Ace slumped in the chair opposite, a constant rhythmic beat ticking between his fingers.

Click. Click.

He sat in a strange position, guarding his side from pain. Shuffling to get comfortable, his shirt sleeve lifted, flashing a series of bruises over his upper arm.

My brows rose. “Can you tell me where you got those?” His eyes leapt around the room, avoiding my gaze at all costs. “Shall I be more specific? Did you get those from Fern?”