Jack tilted his head back, letting the water massage his scalp and stream over his face. He concentrated on the feel of the warm water, and on the white noise it made as it pattered against the floor of the shower and thrummed against his skull. With his eyes closed, it could have been any shower. He could almost pretend he was in his own bathroom back home. Yep. In his own comfortable, familiar Earth house, with lots of beer in the refrigerator, and lots of episodes of The Simpsons waiting on the DVR….

The momentary illusion was shattered by a loud, masculine groan, which was followed by malicious, feminine laughter. Jack turned away from the sounds, trying to immerse his head even more completely in the water. He didn't have to look to know that Hetrisha was once again tormenting Red Panther. The Trainers often felt inspired to amuse themselves with the men when they hit the showers after practice. Predictably, the man's groans became more rhythmic, and took on an intense, conflicted quality that made it difficult to decide whether he was expressing pain or pleasure.

Jack sighed. That was impossible to block out. He could no longer make himself believe he was somewhere else, not even for a second. He opened his eyes and looked down, at the water swirling into the drain at his feet. For a moment, it was as if he could feel his hopes going down that drain, too, but he quickly suppressed the feeling. So Buddy had given him some bad news this morning; so Plan A looked like a no-go. What else was new? Plan A never pans out anyway, he thought. Besides, this Plan A had never much of a plan.It had been no more than a vague notion, but sometimes you had to improvise. The damn Collar severely limited his options.

His "plan" meant going along with Elal's attempt to make him a "star" of the Arena. And that meant getting "rewarded," which he hated, but after what he'd been through outside the Arena, it no longer seemed like that big a deal. His strategy was to ham it up in the Arena, to develop a repertoire of gestures and body language that some members of the audience would hopefully start to recognize. If he created a rapport with some of the women in the crowd, then maybe, one day, he'd be able to communicate something to them. Some kind of SOS that they would pick up on, but that wouldn't be obvious to the watching Trainers. Then maybe one of his fans would go to the authorities, and get them to raid this place.

Maybe, maybe, maybe, he thought. Yeah, that was some plan.

It wasn't as if the Ashoran authorities were exactly on his side. After all, they'd tried to kill him, and might be inclined to try again. But he was perfectly willing to risk that if it meant escaping from this circus of horrors. If he got back "Above Ground," maybe Sam would find out he was alive. Maybe he would see her again! And even if things didn't work out for him, at least the rest of the guys would be out of this place. Anywhere would be better than here.

Jack glanced over at Buddy, who was using the shower next to him. There were no partitions separating the shower heads. The room was basically one big shower stall, except for a raised walkway down the middle. There were multiple shower heads on both sides. Eight men were using the room, washing off the sand and sweat of the Arena, while two Trainers watched them. Well, one Trainer was watching; the other was over in the corner, doing things to Red Panther.

Buddy caught his eye for a moment, and Jack saw regret and sympathy there. Not that Jack had ever told Buddy his "plan" – Jack didn't trust him that far – but Buddy had probably guessed it. Buddy had gotten disturbingly good at reading him.

Jack looked quickly away, staring at the wall. The man aroused a lot of uncomfortable, conflicting emotions. On the one hand, Buddy did what he could to help. He had provided Jack with a lot of information, and was always trying to intervene with Elal on Jack's behalf. But on the other hand, Elal really did own him. He might protest and plead, but in the end, he'd do anything Elal told him to do. Including tying Jack down while he was paralyzed, much as he had done to the Warrior when Umala had put him on the Ropes. Only this had happened in Elal's quarters, in preparation for a different kind of torment – Elal's sexual attentions.

There was a part of Jack that found it difficult to forgive Buddy for his small acts of collaboration, even though he knew how little they really mattered. If Buddy had refused Elal's commands, she would still have gotten what she wanted from Jack, because the Collar made him utterly vulnerable. That had been made brutally clear to him during the horrific night he'd spent in Umala's quarters. The things Elal did to him didn't begin to compare to that torture-and-nausea fest.

Still, he'd been thrilled to be spared Elal's company last night. Elal had commanded only Buddy to her quarters, leaving Jack to sleep in his "cell" for once. But this morning, Buddy had looked solemn. In whispered snippets, he'd passed on what had happened during the night.

Elal had asked if Buddy was jealous of Jack. Buddy hadn't been sure what Elal was fishing for, so he had responded that, thanks to her wonderful influence, he was now a Redeemed male who didn't get jealous. That, apparently, hadn't been what she'd wanted to hear. Elal had become highly emotional, telling Buddy that she loved him and would one day save enough money to buy him and take him away from the Arena. That hadn't thrilled Buddy, because he was already Elal's slave. If she bought him, the only thing that would really change was that he would lose the companionship of the other men. Buddy had tried to pretend he was happy, but hadn't quite pulled it off. Elal had gone into a snit, and told him he could just stay at the Arena and die, then! Because, she'd explained, the Arena was bound to get raided by the Government sometime, but the Syndicate was ready with a contingency plan. The Trainers would escape via a hidden route, but before they left, they would destroy the evidence. They would use the Death command in the men's Collars to kill them all.

Jack sighed and looked down at his body, taking in the swirls of metallic gold on his chest and stomach and genitals, and the subtle, gold-dusted "glaze" that covered him everywhere else. He felt a wave of angry disgust. The paint didn't wash off, no matter how hard he scrubbed. It took a special solvent to remove it.

Suddenly, Jack felt like a pressure cooker about to blow its lid. He felt almost overwhelmed by the impulse to do something! To pound against the walls, or run screaming and attack one of the Trainers, or rip his own painted skin off! But he fought the impulse down, keeping himself still and outwardly calm. If he allowed the impulse to rise to the surface, the Collar would drop him in his tracks, Paralyzed and Punished. He knew that from experience. And that wouldn't help him get out of here.

Trouble was, he could no longer imagine anything that would. The one half-assed idea he'd had for escaping was a non-starter, because he now knew that if the Government ever raided this place, the Syndicate would kill all the men.

As Jack stared despondently at the blank, white wall of the shower room, he felt a kind of prickling between his shoulder blades. He turned and looked, and had to will himself not to flinch as he found himself meeting Umala's vicious black eyes. She had entered the shower room and was standing on the central walkway, staring right at him. As always, the sight of Umala sent a shock of visceral hatred, revulsion, rage, and fear through Jack's body, but he refused to let it show.

Umala had the Warrior with her. He was on his hands and knees behind her, his head down. A leash ran from his Collar to Umala's hand. She was forcing the Warrior to act the part of a "dog." She'd been doing that a lot lately. It proved how broken he already was – even though it had been only thirteen days since he and Jack had arrived in the Underworld. Not even two weeks.

Still staring at him, Umala's fat lips began to curl in that slow, evil smile of hers. It was as if she could guess what he was thinking. And as he looked into her hated face, her words came back to him – the words she had whispered at the end, right before she'd had to turn him over to Elal. "You think it's over now," she'd said, "you think you've escaped me. But I know you. I already know you very well. One day, you'll do something defiant. You won't be able to help yourself. And then, they'll send you back to me, and I'll finish what I've started. I'll make you mine forever." Her voice seemed to reverberate in his head – he seemed to really hear it. And the other sensations began to come back to him – the way all the muscles in his body had ached from hours of convulsing in agony; the way she had caressed his body as she whispered, making his skin crawl…

Jack abruptly looked away. He hated to be stared down, but he could feel another flashback coming on. He had to take a moment to gather himself, to use all his considerable discipline to grab those memories and stuff them back inside his mental cellar. When the big door inside his head fell shut behind them, Jack breathed a sigh of relief. It was holding. His mental cellar was good, but not perfect. He'd had flashbacks after Iraq, too – and nightmares. Lately, he seemed to be able to feel a kind of pressure coming from down there.

Not for the first time, Jack wondered just how much crap his mental cellar could hold. He wondered what would happen to him if it ever filled to capacity – if, one day, the weight of the big trap door wasn't enough to keep it shut against the pressure of all the horror and pain and fear locked inside….

Umala's ugly, triumphant laughter echoed through the shower room, and Jack felt his blood boil. She was laughing because she had stared him down. And at that moment, Jack made a decision. It was a decision that had been hovering over him since Buddy had given him the bad news this morning – or maybe even before that. Now, Jack embraced it. Finally and completely. It's time for Plan B, he thought. Jack looked up and met Umala's eyes again, and she must have sensed something, because her laughter faltered.

Plan B was even less of a plan than Plan A. Plan B couldn't be a plan, couldn't be a conventionally premeditated course of action, because it required getting past the Collar's anti-aggression programming. And Jack had realized that the only way an act of violence ever got past the Collar was if it was so spontaneous and unpremeditated that the Collar wasn't able to pick up on the thought before it became action.

It could be done. Squealer had proven it when he'd punched Umala in the face and broken her nose. The trouble was, there wasn't much point in hitting Umala unless it was a killing blow. And since the action couldn't be premeditated… well, that was the Catch-22.

But Jack had begun to think maybe he could beat it. Because, after all, he knew a dozen ways to kill with a blow, and they were all second nature to him. The moves were so deeply ingrained that he didn't have to think about them consciously. And his hatred of Umala was deeply ingrained, too. It went all the way to the core of his soul. In fact, he wasn't sure he had ever hated anyone quite as much as he hated Umala – and that was saying a hell of a lot. So Jack had begun to wonder if he could sort of program his subconscious to kill Umala. At that moment, as he stared at her hateful, evil face and revolting body, he was absolutely certain of it.

He could kill her. He would kill her. Plan B was a go.

Jack didn't care that Plan B was a suicide mission – at the very least. After he killed Umala, the Syndicate would undoubtedly make an example of him. Jack could only hope that, with Umala's über-sadistic influence gone, the Syndicate would settle for just killing him. Ending up like Squealer was a genuinely scary thought.

But even that thought couldn't shake his resolve. He was going to kill Umala, and not just for the immense personal satisfaction. Umala was by far the most sadistic of the Trainers, and her influence seemed to bring out the worst in the others. With Umala dead, this place would improve a little for the other men. Since he no longer saw even a slim prospect of getting himself or anybody else out of here, eliminating Umala was the best he could do.

Umala was beginning to frown and shift uncertainly under his stare. Jack sensed that this time, she would be the one to look away. But their staring match was interrupted by the entrance of Elal, looking agitated.

"Goldy," said Elal, "come here. We need to get you dried off and ready."

"Ready for what?" asked Jack.

That earned him a Warning and an impatient, anxious look. "Don't you dare be difficult now! Just do what I tell you!"

Umala looked as if she'd tasted something sour. "You aren't actually going to do it," she growled. "This is crazy!"

Jack instantly felt more disposed to cooperate.

"Shut up, Umala!" said Elal. "Mimoisa has ordered it!" Turning to Jack she said, "Come on, Goldy."

Jack walked over to her, wondering what the hell was going on. When Elal grabbed his arm and started pulling him toward the door, he went along with it. She pulled him down the hall and into the drying room, where warm streams of air played over his skin. When he was dry, Elal grabbed his arm again. But by that time, Jack felt himself to be in the right frame of mind to dig in his heels without setting off his Collar.

"Goldy!" she snapped, glaring at him. "Don't start! Do you want to be Punished?"

Jack was intensely aware of her hand on his arm, and of the proximity of her skinny body. He met her hazel eyes and glared back. He hated Elal, but the hatred wasn't as pure as what he felt for Umala. Which, in itself, was one of the reasons he hated Elal. Because there was one thing about rape on Ashora that was different from rape as it had existed throughout history. An Ashoran woman could force a man to experience sexual ecstasy when she raped him – if she chose to. And Elal had. She was such a sick puppy that she regarded what she did to him as an expression of affection.

"No," Jack snapped back at her, "but I want to know what's going on."

Elal pouted for a moment, then gave him a coaxing smile. "Don't worry, Goldy! This is a good thing. For both of us." She smiled wider, and now she seemed excited. "I knew you'd do well in the Arena. And you have! You're already building a following. And now, you've attracted the attention of an very, very rich and important woman! She's here right now, and she wants to meet you in person!"

Jack felt his stomach lurch. He knew what that meant. He was about to be pimped out.

"Don't get that look, Goldy. It's nothing bad. She just wants to have sex with you. And she's a very attractive woman! You'll like her!"

Jack just looked at her. For a moment, he couldn't believe that even a whack-job like Elal could even pretend to be so obtuse. Not after everything that had passed between them.

That first night in Elal's rooms, he'd refused to perform the sexual acts she'd demanded of him. Even though Umala had taught him just how helpless the Collar made him. Even though he knew that, unlike Umala, Elal wasn't limited to a single night with him. She could torture him night after night, day after day. When Elal had begun to Punish him for his refusal, Jack had felt very fatalistic about his situation. What he'd said to Buddy was no more than the truth – every man had a breaking point. He knew that. But he couldn't just knuckle under.

When the torture had stopped, he'd thought at first it was just another short breather, during which Elal would ask him whether he'd come to his senses yet. He'd been so dazed with pain it had taken him a few moments to realize Elal was crying. Soon, she'd begun flinging sobbing complaints at him. "Why do you have to be such a crazy male?" she'd wailed. "It's not right for you to force me to hurt you like this!" Jack had listened in disbelief. Elal had carried on like a child who'd been unfairly put upon, which was truly twisted, since she was the one with all the power.

As she had proven the next night, when she'd tied him down and raped him anyway. Though, of course, Elal refused to acknowledge that it was rape. Despite all his arguments, insults, threats, and appeals, he couldn't get her to admit she was doing anything bad, much less stop. She just kept repeating the Ashoran mantra, "Males can't be raped."

But Jack wasn't buying it. No matter how immature she sometimes seemed, Elal was not a child. At some level, she had to know that what she was doing to him was wrong.

Elal's false brightness crumbled before his stare. Emotions chased each other across her face – and then drained away, leaving an uncharacteristically serious and adult expression. "Listen to me, Goldy," she said, gazing steadily into his eyes. "You have to behave yourself. You have to. If you screw this up, you will definitely get sent back to Umala. I won't be able to protect you."

Jack felt his jaw clench. The threat of Umala was always Elal's ace in the hole – just as the crime boss, Mimoisa, had undoubtedly intended. That calculating bitch must have known all along that Elal had no stomach for serious torture. Jack's willingness to endure Punishment made it possible for him to defy Elal's orders in private, but if he did that in public – if he refused to do the "work" that was demanded of him – Mimoisa would intervene and send him back to Umala. Of course, up until now, performing in the Arena had been part of his "plan" anyway. But Jack sometimes wondered to what extent his "plan" had been a rationalization, a way to avoid admitting to himself just how much he hated the thought of falling back into Umala's hands.

Plan A was dead now, but if he were sent back to Umala, Plan B wouldn't have much of a chance, either. The night that Umala had "worked" on him, she had kept him either Paralyzed or tied down at all times. Apparently, getting punched in the face by a Collared man had taught her not to rely on the anti-aggression program. If he came under Umala's direct control, his opportunities for nailing her would be much reduced – if not eliminated entirely.

Jack gazed directly into Elal's eyes, and wrapped himself in every shred of authority he could muster. Even though he was, in reality, completely helpless, Jack had found he could sometimes intimidate Elal through sheer force of personality.

"Forget it!" he barked. "Shove the threats up your ass! I am not playing whore for anybody. You damn well better find a way to avoid handing me over to Ms. VIP, or I swear to you, you're gonna have one very pissed off customer on your hands. And who do you think Mimoisa will blame for that?"

Elal let out a strangled cry of frustration, and began literally pulling her hair. "No!" she wailed. "No, no, no, no! Why do you have to be like this? Can't you understand I'm trying to help you? I've seen what Umala does to her males. Do you think I want to see that happen to you?"

"If you actually care about me," said Jack, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "then don't let this woman rape me. And while you're at it, how 'bout you stop raping me yourself?"

Elal rolled her eyes and let out a pained sigh. Then she crossed her arms and shook her head, blinking back tears. Melodrama came easily to Elal, but she did seem genuinely upset. Jack knew that she truly didn't want Umala to get her hands on him again – partly because that would have been a victory for her rival, but also because she really did seem to feel some sort of twisted attachment to him.

"I was so afraid you'd do this," she said, her voice subdued. "This is such a great opportunity, but I was so afraid you'd screw it up that I actually did try to steer Insenstil away from you. I told her that you're new and raw and full of patriarchal stubbornness, and that she'd probably prefer the Services of one of the other males, but she insisted on you.

"This is a huge deal, Goldy. Insenstil is one of the wealthiest women on the planet! But she's an eccentric recluse. She's never even been to the Arena before. Apparently, she saw you on one of the Wrestling videos we sell through certain discreet channels, and she was so taken with you that she came all the way here from the South Continent just to meet you! She showed up an hour ago at one of the Arena's secret entrances, demanding to be let in. And she's known to be a strict Scrupulist – just the sort of woman who might be interested in several of our products. Mimoisa is chomping at the bit to do business with her. This could be the beginning of an extremely lucrative relationship.

"But it all depends on you, Goldy. If you queer this deal, Mimoisa will be so disgusted that she'll give you to Umala as a pet. She probably won't even care if Umala damages you." There seemed to be genuine fear in Elal's eyes – though Jack figured most of it was for herself rather than him. "That's why the Syndicate brought me on board, you know. Not that they minded what Umala did to Squealer – because he did hit her, so she had to make an example of him – but there were some other males who ended up with brain damage, too. The Syndicate sent me here to act as a counterweight to Umala, and make sure she stopped damaging our males unnecessarily."

"How generous of them," said Jack.

Elal sighed. "Do you think I like what Umala does to her males? Do you think I like the Games? Don't you think I want to see all that pain and violence come to an end?"

"I'm sure you do," said Jack, "because I know how much you hate Umala's guts. And how much you'd like to rise in the Syndicate. And … oh yeah, I almost forgot … what a tender-hearted person you are."

Elal gave him a hurt look. "That isn't fair. I care about you, Goldy. And the other males, too. That's the main reason I'd like to see the Games abolished. And if we win Insenstil's business, it'll be a huge boost for the Wrestling Matches! Maybe the Syndicate would finally decide to do away with the Games. Wouldn't you like to see Umala lose her job? Imagine how much things would improve around here with her gone!"

"Oh, I have," said Jack.

Elal glanced at her data-wristlet. "I can't delay any longer, Goldy. Insenstil isn't a patient woman. Please," she pleaded, reverting to one of her child-like modes, "please, please, please! Can't you go with the flow just this once? Can't you forget your pride, for the sake of a better future for all the males here?"

This little speech drew a disgusted look from Jack. Elal might sometimes behave like a child, but she could also be quite shrewd. She knew which arguments would appeal to him. And, though she didn't realize it, she'd given an accurate summary of the choice before him. If he refused to play gigolo for this VIP, he'd end up back under Umala's control, and that would almost surely fuck up Plan B.

And that wouldn't be the only thing that was fucked. He'd be at Umala's mercy again, this time with no end in sight.

But even if he made a conscious decision to pimp himself for the sake of Plan B, he wasn't sure he could really do it. He wasn't sure he had it in him, regardless of the consequences.

"One day, you'll do something defiant. You won't be able to help yourself. And then, they'll send you back to me, and I'll finish what I've started. I'll make you mine forever."

Jack shuddered, and quickly stuffed the memory of those whispered words back down. When Elal took his hand, he gave a small start, like a man waking from a dream.

"Are you ready, Goldy?" she asked, looking genuinely concerned. "Please, please tell me you're ready."

"Ready as I'll ever be," said Jack, his voice flat.

Elal sighed, no doubt recognizing Jack's words for the non-promise they were. But when she began to tug him forward, Jack allowed himself to be led.

They moved out of the drying room, and into one of the stark, tunnel-like corridors that were so common in the Arena complex. But after a little while, Elal used her neural implants to open a door in the wall, and they stepped into a hallway that had an entirely different aspect. This one was luxuriously appointed, with plush carpet, colorful wallpaper, and fancy light fixtures. She closed the door behind them. Then she stopped and turned to Jack, fixing him with a serious expression.

"Insenstil is waiting to meet you in the Rainbow Room," she said. "And you have to mind your manners with her! Don't speak unless spoken to. And if she does speak to you, respond respectfully, for Goddess's sake! Address her as 'Honored One.' When I present you, I'm going to squeeze your shoulder like this. That will be your signal to kneel. And when I squeeze your shoulder again, you are to crawl forward and greet Insenstil by kissing her feet."

Kissing her feet. Suddenly, Jack was immersed in the memory of the only time in his life he'd ever kissed a woman's feet. He remembered how annoyed he'd been at first, but because it was Sam, he'd been willing to do it. Then, without planning it, he'd cheated and kissed her ankle. When his lips had touched her flesh, he'd felt the most amazing jolt go through his body.

That had been the first touch between them in over a year! Not that they'd ever permitted themselves much physical contact, except in extremity. They'd always had to be so careful. But, that night, the first touch between them had been only the beginning. That magical night, the barriers had finally fallen.

Jack closed his eyes for a moment. Then he gave Elal a blistering look. "I'm not kissing this woman's feet," he said. "Not gonna happen."

"You said you'd cooperate!" she cried. "Insenstil is a strict Scrupulist. She'll expect you to follow the proper etiquette."

"But I'm new and uncouth. No manners at all. Isn't that what you already told her?"

Elal's face screwed up with anxiety. "We haven't got time for this, Goldy!" Sighing massively, she said, "Okay. Maybe you don't have to kiss her feet – but you do have to kneel. Will you at least do that?"

"Let's just get on with it," growled Jack.

Elal led him a little further down the hall, to an ornate door. She opened the door, took his arm, and pulled him into the Rainbow Room.

Jack had never been in the Rainbow Room before, but he'd heard all about it. It was the place where Arena slaves were sometimes rented out to certain select patrons, and it looked the part. The decor was both sumptuous and garish. There were sofas upholstered in jewel-bright fabrics, and tables of gilded wood inlaid with gemstones. It reminded Jack of the "premium seating area" where he had first been introduced to the Arena, except this looked even more expensive. The walls bore a slowing moving pattern of rainbow-colored swirls, along with a number of large holographs of Wrestlers. A couple of the images were of Wrestlers grappling in the Arena, but most showed naked, painted men striking erotic poses. In the center of the room, dominating everything, was an enormous bed covered in satiny black sheets, and heaped with multi-colored pillows. Gauzy, glittering drapes hung around it.

There were three women on the other side of the bed, but only their silhouettes were visible through the drapes. One of them was speaking, giving some kind of pitch about the glories of the Arena. Jack recognized Mimoisa's voice.

When he and Elal came around the bed, Jack immediately focused on the unfamiliar woman sitting in a plush, throne-like armchair. Her features and coloring suggested South Asian ancestry. Her face was turned toward Mimoisa, who sat next to her. She was listening to Mimoisa with a closed, neutral expression. A Trainer named Ishpia hovered at the stranger's other side, pouring some kind of beverage into a crystal goblet on a small, ornate table. None of the women seemed to have noticed their entrance.

Elal tugged on Jack's arm, signaling him to halt, and said, "If I may interrupt?"

All three women turned sharply toward them. Mimoisa broke off in mid-sentence and exclaimed, "Ah! And here he is!"

"Forgive the delay, Honored Ones," said Elal. "I had to take a moment to make him more presentable. He'd just come from Arena practice, and you know how easily males get carried away by all that rough and tumble!" All the women snickered at this – except the stranger. Her expression remained serious, intense, and utterly focused on him, as if he were her salvation.

Jack had expected to hate her, but he found himself strangely intrigued instead. Her great, dark eyes were so full of barely restrained feeling. There was something about the way she looked at him, the way she blinked….

A strange feeling came over Jack. Though he didn't recognize this woman's face, there was something about her that seemed very familiar. What was it? She was wearing Ashoran clothes – topless bodice, high-waisted jacket, and a skirt that fell from her hips, leaving her midriff bare. The clothes were peacock blue, with touches of gold and green, and her plaited black hair was bound with blue and green cords. Wait a minute … hadn't Sam worn clothes like that? On that special night … their night. Jack didn't usually notice clothes much, but that outfit, he'd noticed. And didn't this woman's outfit match exactly? Jack studied her face again, an impossible suspicion beginning to form….

"Esteemed Sister Insenstil," said Elal, "I am pleased to present you with our male, Hard Gold. He is at your Service." Elal squeezed his shoulder, the signal for him to kneel, and Jack found himself falling to his knees without any fuss. Because his knees were giving way. He stared down at the golden carpet while his heart decided to abandon the old bu-bump in favor of some kind of crazy Salsa rhythm. It took every ounce of discipline he had to keep from giving something away.

I'm imagining things, he told himself. I've finally lost it. How could it be true?

The hem of a peacock-blue skirt came into Jack's line of sight. Then a woman's hand touched the side of his face. Her fingers caressed the back of his neck, sending a strange jolt through his body. He shuddered and closed his eyes for a moment, and leaned his cheek against her hand. As the shudder passed, a wave of enormous peace replaced it.

Jack looked up into her face. The shape of her nose and chin had been altered somehow, and her coloring was different – but Jack no longer had any doubt.

It was Sam.

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