"Welcome, Jason," said Elena. "It's good to see you. I have to say, the years haven't been kind to you." Her eyes scanned him, lingering on his scars.

His damaged skin tingled with shame. Yes, it's true, I'm not what I used to be.

In contrast, she was practically glowing. Each movement hinted charisma and power. Her beauty had only enhanced with age, the slight sharpening of her features making her more unique, burnishing her into the gorgeousness of a movie star.

But at the same time, he was repelled rather than attracted. Even if he hadn't been married. Of course, he'd been attracted to her back then, but it had all melted away after she'd betrayed them. Now, there was a sort of hardness to her, all of the façade stripped away. Darkness stirred in her brilliant blue eyes. Every expression seemed to have something calculated behind it, and there was a hint of corruption at the heart of her charisma, something completely self-centered, which existed only for luxury, and at the same time a cold calculation.

"I don't think I can say the same," said Jason.

"So you mean to say it's not good to see me, or the years have been kind to me?"

"Both."

She laughed, seemingly no malice behind it. She gestured to the guards. "Please take off the handcuffs. He doesn't need them."

Jason looked down; sure enough, the handcuff was still locked to his wrist. The guard stepped toward him, and he had to force himself to stay rooted to the ground rather than back away. He certainly didn't want any more restraints than he had to.

"That will be all, Tamara," said Elena.

"But—perhaps—"

"That will be all." Elena's tone was firm, vehement—one that dared not be disobeyed.

Tamara nodded and turned, the guards following, the last one shutting the door behind him.

"Ah, that's better," said Elena. "Just the two of us." She fiddled with the pencil on her desk, scribbling on the piece of paper in front of her. She wore a dark charcoal suit, the white blouse beneath it open at the collar. "Just the two of us. Now we can catch up."

"I don't think we need to do that."

"You're right—the here and now is what matters." She tilted her head. "You certainly don't do well trapped, do you."

He shook his head, his stomach flipping at the fact she implied she'd been watching him. He regretted losing control, showing weakness. But especially with PTSD, it was hard to control his feelings when he was trapped.

"You will have to get used to a certain level of limitation. We aren't going to be able to trust you with free rein of the place for a long time. It's true only I have unrestricted access to every area. Until you become one of us, it's up to you how pleasant your time here is. Brack did go a bit overboard, but that's just a small taste of what you'll experience if you resist. I do of course expect a certain amount of resistance; you wouldn't be a candidate for an agent if you were easy to subdue."

A chill spread through him.

So it was true. They did intend to make him an agent.

That could never happen. Unless they were able to completely brainwash him. At the same time, he was relieved they didn't want him as a slave. Of course, it would be slavery—but he knew he'd resist.

I'll die before I betray who I am. Before I betray God, the ones I love, everything I believe in.

He couldn't imagine working for people who trafficked in children.

"I'll never join you."

She smirked. "Ohh—there it is. That wonderful defiance. I look forward to the challenge of breaking it." She tapped her pencil on the paper. As far as he could see, all that was on the paper were doodles.

"You won't be able to."

"Perhaps, perhaps not. Either way, I get what I want." Her eyes narrowed, the hatred of long ago stirring in their depths. "You ruined our plans, you know. You and that other agent and the prince. I would have become what my father wanted. I was going to take Zahl's place at Von Warburg's side. But you—bumbling though you were—somehow stumbled onto success. Tore down all we had built. All my father had dreamed of." Her eyes flashed. She leaned forward; though, for the first time, her movements were stiff rather than fluidly smooth.

He wondered if she'd suffered after the fall of the regime when she'd had to flee, go underground, perhaps resort to crime to survive. The flicker of sympathy surprised him. It wasn't as if any of her actions were justified. Still, perhaps she'd experienced pain… even if she deserved it, he couldn't find it in his heart to exult over it. Perhaps because it's only right to empathize with another human being…. I certainly know what pain can do to you…. Twist your heart if you don't have a strong foundation, faith grounding you (I certainly have faltered enough times….).

"All my dreams collapsed. I had to survive on scraps. Several years at the bottom of society in the shadows. What I had to endure, living on thoughts of revenge. They were my only food for a while—and oh, how satisfying. How many times I imagined you in my power. But in the end, I had to not just survive, but thrive. I rose from the ashes, fulfilled my full potential. Broke free from the past, split off from my father's expectations and formed something new, fitting who I am. I grew up, I suppose you could say." Her eyes flitted over him, a secret glee in them. "I grew a massive organization whose power is just now being realized in the outer world. It emerged from the core of my heart. People followed me without reservation, worshipped me. It was a good plan—live in the shadows. That's where the only true power lies. I only later realized it's you I have to thank. If the government hadn't fallen, I never would have fulfilled my full potential. Broken away from who my father was, from the past, and became a leader in my own right."

"You could have done—so many things. You could have turned to good. Instead… you live off the pain of children."

She shrugged. "It's just business. I picked the most lucrative businesses on purpose. The top three—weapons, drugs, and human trafficking. The foundation of my power."

"That kind of power—it's built on darkness. It'll eventually fall."

"On the contrary. I've built something foolproof. It's the organization that's well-made. I've got so many fail-safes built in—even if the majority of it crumbles, it will build itself back up again."

"It won't be worth building up. You can still change. You can make the right choice. You can give yourself up—"

Her laugh rang through the room. "Nice try. You don't really think it'll be that easy to take me down? Just sprinkle me with some of your Christian rhetoric and suddenly I see the light?" Her laughter built. But suddenly she stopped, eyes wide, then darting downwards as if something had hurt her.

He almost asked if she was alright, but thought, she doesn't deserve my concern. She is completely unrepentant.

"In any case," she said, "I'm not going to waste my time justifying myself to you. I just thought you'd like to know you were the catalyst for bringing me to success. You wanted to bring me down, but instead were instrumental in creating a massive crime organization. It does seem like whatever you do is an exercise in futility. Similarly, despite your resistance, we will eventually bring you to our side. Your actions will bring about the sweetest revenge. It will also double as revenge on your father. The pain he'll feel… the one who led to my father's death."

"You and your father only have yourselves to blame. It was your evil actions that led to your pain."

"What does that say about your actions? I have no doubt you'll experience pain. Unless you give in right away, which would be disappointing. And it's obvious that just being confined is pain enough; perhaps that would be sufficient pressure to break you. Building and building—pressing down on you, walls closing in on you, until you scream…. We'll start with somewhat mild methods because we don't want to damage you too much. Of course…. we've been refining ways of breaking a man. And it varies with each one. When we have those we want to use, we tailor the methods to the specific person."

"I thought…you didn't want me. That I was… too weak."

"That was just a test. Tailored to your psyche. And I must say—I was a little concerned for a bit—but in the end, you passed with flying colors."

"I collapsed."

"No one could have kept up that amount of sustained action, not unless he were superman or on drugs. We wanted to take you to your breaking point to see what exactly that would be. Beforehand, we tested you, prodded your pressure points." She lifted a device from her desk, near her computer. Pressed a button on it, and the window disappeared.

Now, behind her, was a blank wall.

She gestured to one of the chairs near the round wooden table to her right. "Would you like to sit down? You probably need rest."

He longed to sit; gravity dragged at him. But he didn't want to comply with anything she wanted. Any small way he gave in would be a defeat. Just because he'd sacrificed himself didn't mean he was going to go passively to the slaughter.

It would make it that much harder on himself. Weariness threatened to swallow him whole; days, months, perhaps even years stretched ahead of him, their pressure grinding down on him and taking its toll.

But it's worth it, he told himself.

He shook his head.

"Suit yourself."

"So was that all a test, too?" He gestured to the door. "Keeping me there, creating that—illusion?" He couldn't keep the anger out of his voice.

"You'll find that things here don't exactly make sense to you. Our world works by different rules. You never know when the floor will drop out from under you. When a room of luxury will actually be a prison, or when a window will actually be a tool for ambience. Whether something has a reason, a purpose, or it's just—random. Part of our normal operations, or a way to put pressure on you."

"You made it look like a psychiatrists' office on purpose." He shivered with the implications. What they knew about him.

"I thought it would be a fitting welcome. Tilt your sense of reality a bit, while digging into your scars and seeing how you'd react to confinement. There was one part of it that wasn't an illusion. I really am a doctor. I studied psychology—which is why I know intimately what will affect a person's psyche. And those close to me call me El." She smiled, her eyes flickering as if with a pleasant reminiscence. "You know, you weren't on my radar at all—don't flatter yourself I was simmering in plots for revenge all these years. I moved on. Couldn't immerse in the past while building a future. However—in May, I got reports from my affiliate in Paraguay, Ramon. He mentioned an agent in passing who he'd 'dealt with'—and I had to look him up, because any breach of security is a potential threat. Ramon is only loosely connected with me, but still.

"Imagine my surprise when I saw you on the security camera! Everything flooded back. Your innocent face as I played you, then tore away the illusion. I was compelled to follow you – see how you'd been surviving all these years. I researched some of your missions, discovered the bare bones of them. But recently, you'd experienced a crisis of belief. Quit the Agency, once and for all. Two years ago—your past caught up with you, you were captured, your back torn with whips—you were nearly killed. Such exultation I felt! You'd experienced pain as well. But still… part of me burned for revenge. To mete it out personally. The more I researched, the more I saw how I could cut into your scars. Slice you up and crush you—oh, it was delicious just thinking of it.

"But there was still something hollow about it. It wasn't enough just to shred you, make you beg for life. The best revenge would be to make you mine. Make you betray everything you believed in, as you took everything from me. Furthermore, I saw your potential as an agent. Yes, you were reckless, and still blundered into things. But if you were honed…. You were partly crushed already but that fire in you. That essential agent-ness—it can't be taken away. Your scars were only inroads to deconstructing you and building you back up again, in my image." She beamed as if filled by wonder at her own plan. "You would work for me. You would belong to me. And thus my revenge would be complete."

She opened a desk drawer and drew out a bottle of water and a small, unmarked pill bottle. "I'm sure you'd like some painkillers."

Alarm flitted through him. "What is it?"

"Just my own special brand. Everything here is better than what's outside, because we don't have to go through levels of bureaucracy and years of trials."

"Those are to keep people safe."

"Most of them are redundant, we've found. Here, efficiency and effectiveness are the rule."

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You must be in pain after the beating."

He shook his head. "I've had worse."

"So you have.

"Now that I had an idea of what I wanted to do, I began the observation phase. However, I'd barely implemented it when you came to me! It was as if the stars were aligning. After you arrived, especially after the Centennial, the observation intensified. The first phase complete, I dropped a bread crumb, and you came to my loyal enforcer. He began some light pressure while watching you personally."

"So—" His heart dropped with the implications. Every move—it had been futile. "Ali really did know I was following him in Valhad."

"I took vicarious delight in his investigations—he did so love playing the games with you. He got perhaps a bit more involved than he should have…. Which is probably what compromised him in the end. His feelings got too entangled, and he let his guard down enough to be incapacitated. A wonderful bit of psy ops, that—how you compromised your morality, fed up with his prodding." She chuckled. "I don't blame you. Ali can be a little much sometimes. But at the same time, it's what makes him a good agent. And I don't blame him for falling for you. A dynamic, passionate agent—with a lot to offer.

"Anyway, after the second phase, we increased the pressure and kept increasing it. Why do you think Estelle locked you in the interrogation room when you first went to Zelise? Not for the pretext she provided. It was interesting to see what you did with it. How your wife affects you. Calms you—excites you. I don't see what you see in her. It's a mystery to me."

Outrage quivered through him. "She's amazing."

"Goes to show how love can blind a person.

"I'm sure you can guess the rest. Estelle locking you in prison in earnest the next time you met. Leon's interrogation—the brutality of it—a test, of course. And we saw how we could get to you—your trauma embedded so deeply in your heart. That will be one of our challenges. A chance to break you down—without crushing you.

"Then the auction of the young adults –we don't always torture them, but we thought it was fitting in this case."

"It…" His mouth was dry. "You did it for my benefit?"

"Quite entertaining to see your reaction. Finally, we took you in, gave you a taste of torture. If you hadn't overcome that test, I would have dropped you and just gotten the old-fashioned type of revenge. Discarded you and not thought of you again. But you rose up off of the ground…. Kept going, only to be displayed at the kids' auction—" Her eyes glinted. "Kept pushing yourself even after the deaths of the agents. Samar's house, the agent cut into. That of course was for your benefit as well."

"You hurt him—because of—" His throat tightened. Guilt slammed into him, even though he hadn't known.

"Partly. Part of it was to punish him. Part of it was a reward to Samar. She needs pressure valves every once in a while. Otherwise, she explodes at the wrong times. Quite a maverick…just borderline of too unpredictable. But chaos has its uses. As long as we can rein it in.

"I've found that killing two or more birds with one stone is best. Aligning two purposes in complete symphony—for me it's second-nature. Elliot is an example. We wanted to put pressure on Markov, of course—but we also wanted to show you an agent in distress. What might happen if you defy us."

He felt sick. His head swam; he felt like sitting down, at least support himself, but he forced himself to stay rooted to the spot. Stabilize his mind and heart. Distract himself by looking away from her. It was easy to blank his mind, because all of this was too much to take in. What he'd thought he'd known—all shifting sands.

"How wonderful it was to see the cracks but see you pushing forward anyway. Until you could go no more. The point wasn't to test you to see if you were worth it—we'd already determined that you were. The point was to see where your breaking point was. A rough guideline going forward. We finally had enough data points to take you in. We would have taken you anyway, but again you came to us. I thought you might—I wasn't sure if your instinct for sacrifice would kick in, or if your wounds would overwhelm you. Again, you didn't disappoint. You rose above your past. It's always interesting to see how the nuances of events and psyche combine to tilt one way or another. A strong subject always surprises. Now, we have a launching point, a baseline to mold you. Time will tell what will break you of your instinct for sacrifice. Or if I can use it. But now—it's time to keep you in a controlled environment. Out of the wild, we will see how you react to each stressor, how each pressure point we've determined affects you."

"I don't see how I can be useful to you."

She smiled. "There's that humility again. It can be a double-edged sword. We'll have to break you of that eventually—but in the meantime, it can be a powerful tool. It's true that now, you're only raw material. It will take time to mold you to your full potential."

"I won't give in."

"My bet is that you will eventually. It's most likely you'll break under our pressure; the second most likely is that you'll shatter and have to be discarded. There is a small chance, I suppose, you'll bend but not break. You wouldn't be a promising candidate if that possibility didn't exist. I'm really looking forward to finding out over the next weeks and months." She dug in her desk again, brought out a container and opened it. "This salve is quite the miracle, isn't it? How does your hand and shoulder feel?"

His mind reeling, he realized that he couldn't feel any pain, just a dull tingle. "Good."

"You didn't let Tamara put any on your chest, though. It must be painful."

It still burned. But it was nothing he couldn't handle. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure? I could help you with it."

Revulsion rippled through him. He couldn't imagine letting her touch him. "No, thank you."

"Very well." She set the salve back in the desk, leaned her arms over the paper. "This is as straightforward as I'll be, you know. After this, you will never know the specifics of what's going on or whether your hours will be calm or turbulent. But I thought I'd give you the basics of your situation. What your life will be from now on. And how futile it will be to escape—because you have been in our power ever since you set foot in Muldavia. We control everything here."

"No one can."

"It's true we're not quite as omnipotent as Samar let on. But we control everything relevant to us. The secret to our control is that we are flexible. For instance, we didn't know if we'd have to pick you up, or if you'd come to us. That's all part of the fun. And now—we control all aspects of your life. You may be allowed some leeway, but you'll never be able to do anything against us and eventually you'll give in. Of course, we hold the trump card, but we'll only use it as a last resort. If you're being particularly stubborn."

"What do you mean."

"Connie. We can get to her at any time." She chuckled.

"I'll die before I let you hurt her."

"There we go. You know, if you attempt suicide, or succeed in it, we will kill her. Or perhaps bring her in. She's not anything special, but she'll fetch a satisfactory price—"

He lunged at her. Horror raging through him. All thoughts washed from his mind—reaching for her neck—

She stood, backed against the wall.

And he stopped short.

She was pregnant.

His stomach dropped.

What I almost did—such hatred—

one line I won't cross. Unless it's in self-defense. And—I can't do anything to her. I would hurt an innocent child.

A knowing smile spread across her face. She straightened her shirt a little and stepped out from behind the desk. Casually reached for the remote and turned on another scene—a waterfall in a glade. Strikingly similar to the one… he and Connie had loved—

"Ooh!" she exclaimed, her hand leaping to her stomach. "Your little outburst startled him." She reached for his arm with her other hand. "Would you like to feel?"

He shook his head, mind swirling with the cacophony of revelations. One of his thoughts was, perhaps it's a sham, too. Perhaps she's feigning pregnancy so I won't attack her.

She grasped his wrist. He didn't pull away; he was too stunned.

She laid his hand on her stomach.

A slight tap against his palm.

He gasped.

So—it was true.

Another succession of taps.

"What a strong boy he is! Takes after me. That's my hope, anyway."

He lifted his hand away. It was shaking. "So…you know it's a boy?"

"Yes. We have state-of-the-art facilities here. I wouldn't risk a pregnancy I wanted. He's big, too—getting a little hard to carry around." She smiled fondly, patted her stomach. "I thought he might be twins—two for one, which would be nice. But he's just a big baby."

"How…far along?"

"It'll be seven months this week. His father is here, you know."

"Is he…one of your guards."

"No, he's an agent, actually. You've seen him. We also call him El, but his name is Elliot."

A bolt of lightning blazed through his mind, flashed back to the images on the screen—Elliot traumatized, in shock…

"You mean—"

She smirked. "It wasn't willing. But he did come to enjoy it. He's looking forward to the birth of his child. But of course, it won't belong to him."

"That's sick." Tears blurred his vision.

"All a matter of perspective, my dear. Moral concerns don't come into any of my dealings, which is why I can act with such efficiency. I took him because he was beautiful. I wanted him to create the next generation of us. We will see if the baby lives up to his potential, or if he'll have to become a common slave."

"You would—enslave your own child?" The depravity of it didn't end.

"If it ended up too like its father. He's been a disappointment. I thought he might be the one I'd keep for my partner. But he's too weak. He broke too easily. I was too hasty deciding, I admit—and I should have known. I don't want young, callow children—like you used to be."

Her hand lifted to his face.

Shock blazed through him.

She caressed his cheek, running her fingers along his jaw, her thumb brushing his chin lightly. "The years look good on you. You've aged like a fine wine."

She slid her fingers into his hair, her eyes full of fond admiration.

He pulled away, heart pounding hard. Still, he was nightmarishly slow.

"No," he managed to say. "I only belong to one."

She smirked. "You had no say in anything the moment you decided to exchange yourself. You belong to us." She grasped his arm.

He yanked it away, burning where she'd touched. It already felt a betrayal, although he'd assented to none of it.

"There are ways… I know things that can erase your memory of that innocent girl you think you love."

"Nothing you do could ever do that." He knew that much. His heart ached with desperate longing—he yearned to see her again. He couldn't bear the thought of living in darkness, only having fading memories…. But he could never betray her, no matter how long it was or what happened here.

"Maturity looks good on you. So do the scars… they tell stories of your past, each unique, adding up to—someone gorgeous, with the keen temperance of pain." She reached out to him again, but he dodged her touch.

She laid her hands on her hips with an expression of tolerant impatience. "Jason," she said, "I'll humor you for now, but you will have to learn eventually I will not tolerate disrespect."

He turned away, part of him wishing he'd never offered himself. But now, he had to live with his choice. Make the best of it. Just because he'd sacrificed himself didn't mean his life was worthless now. Didn't mean his current choices didn't matter.

She rubbed her palms. "All right. Now that we understand one another, why don't you join me for dinner? You must be famished."

He shook his head. He knew he was hungry, but he didn't feel like eating. He also didn't know what it would cost him.

"Suit yourself. You could have roast beef and baby potatoes, asparagus, strawberry shortcake, and the finest wine, but if you'd rather have…rougher fare…." She gestured to him and walked through the door. Numbly, he followed her as the guards joined them on the other side, flanking him.

Through the waiting room to the other door. Then, they emerged into the hallway. It was lit with a soft blue light, emanating from somewhere he couldn't tell. Several doors were set in the walls, not uniform, but each unique. One was white, one was shiny black, one was wooden with elegant carvings.

The hallway curved to the left, revealing more doors, these more elaborate. One painted with a delicate floral pattern, one a forest green, one golden with figures carved on it, dancing among flowers. Elena gestured as she walked by. "This is my room. If you're lucky, you may be able to visit it."

The hallway morphed into a stairway which curved downwards. It spiraled deeper, making Jason feel the oppressiveness of weight crushing him, squeezing his lungs. He had the impression of going deeper into the earth, though he had no concrete evidence of that, except for the lack of windows. The walls morphed from painted white to concrete, increasing the impression.

The floor leveled out and turned into white and green tiles. Doors lined the hallway, these plainer, made of uniform dark wood. Each bearing a number.

In the center of the hallway, Elena gestured to a random door, number 37. "This will be your room. It has all necessary amenities, including a small fridge. However, there is a communal dining room where meals are served. Only in certain instances can you have meals taken to your room; otherwise, if you want to eat, you'll have to go to the dining room. There is a small bathroom provided as well. However, there is no shower. If you would like a shower, which is required at least several times a week, you will have to use the communal showers. They are private, if you wish. You can roam freely about the slave quarters at certain times per day; otherwise, your door will be locked. Now is rest time, but in a few minutes, it will be supper time, and everyone will be released for their evening meal. There is no gender segregation, but there is absolutely no tolerance of a physical relationship of any kind. I don't think I have to worry about that with you." She winked. "There is also no tolerance of attempts to escape. We will know. We have installed a biometrics device in the back of your neck."

He felt there; sure enough, there was a small bump.

"It will let us know if you are engaged in any…unapproved activities. Additionally, the cameras are ubiquitous here. So there is no chance of escape. The sooner you get used to the idea, the better. Get settled in, get comfortable, get used to the routine. You may even begin to enjoy yourself. There are many good things here, especially for slaves who cooperate.

"Oh, one more thing." She turned to the door opposite "his" room. Number 22. "Let me show you something." She pressed her thumb to a small pad on the door; only then did he realize there were no doorknobs or handles. The door slid slowly open.

There was a small living room with a green couch and matching chair, and a smooth dark coffee table with rounded corners bolted to the floor. There was a small television on the partition opposite the couch. She led him inside; the guards followed. As he stepped inside, he noticed a bunk bed to the right of the door, bolted to the wall. It had a gray comforter on it, slightly rumpled, an indent as if someone had been laying in it. Beyond the partition was a kitchen with a faux-wood table and two plastic yellow chairs. On the furthest chair sat a man, leaning his head in his hand, his dark hair falling in front of his face. He didn't stir at first, but the tension in his body was evident. He cringed, as if trying to get smaller, as they approached.

Elena leaned her hands on the table. "Hello, El."

He didn't look up; instead, he wrapped his arms around himself, edging his chair slightly backwards. The guards headed toward him, but Elena waved them away and they stood on either side of the table, as still as granite, their dark clothes identical, their hair close-cropped; they almost looked like twins except for a slight difference in their features.

"El, how are you doing today."

He shook his head, barely perceptibly.

Jason's heart flipped over. He recalled she called Elliot El. Horror crashed over him—he felt like gathering Elliot into an embrace. But he could do neither.

She turned to Jason. "This is Elliot. He'll be your neighbor now that he's settled down. He will live out the remainder of his days here, but you'll only be here until you become our agent."

She drew closer to Elliot, sliding around the table, her hand on her swollen stomach. She slid her fingers delicately under his chin, lifting his face, revealing eyes blazing with terror until he lowered them again. She rubbed his chin over the short stubble. "You do know I like you clean-shaven. Please take care of that before I call you again, or there will be consequences."

He gasped, turned away. A tear slid down his cheek.

She slid her hand into his hair, lingering in it.

Jason had to do something.

He stepped closer. "Elena—he's not in any shape to—"

"He will accept without question anything I have to give him and consider it a privilege. Besides, even if he is exhausted of my presence, he enjoys seeing his child. At least, being in the same room with him. Don't you, El." She grasped his hand, lifted it, and set it on her stomach.

He flinched but then looked up cautiously. A flicker of love and hope flickered in the anguish and despair of his indigo eyes. His hand jerked slightly, surprise flashing across his face. She pressed his hand back and he didn't pull away this time. Wonder chased away some of the fear, although his body was still locked with tension.

She stepped back, lowering his hand; caressed his shoulder as he looked up at her warily.

"He does enjoy visiting with his child. If he continues to cooperate, he will be allowed the privilege to see the baby after it's born; however, he will not bear the title of the child's father."

"Why not?" said Jason, outrage burning deep within him. "He is the child's father. He should at least be allowed that."

"A slave has no rights unless we give them to him."

He shook with rage. "No one should be a slave. No one should be subjected to—such horrors."

"He has fulfilled the most potential that he ever will. He should be glad that I have not discarded him or his child completely."

Jason turned away; there was no use arguing with someone so depraved. He did wish he could do something for Elliot; what he'd wished in the beginning, when he'd first seen him. Now that he was here, at least he could try to help, though he might not be able to get him away from his tormenter.

He edged closer to Elliot on the other side of the table, careful not to startle him. After all, Elliot had never seen him, had no idea if he was here to hurt him too.

He crouched down, ignoring Elena's glare. "Elliot," he said.

Elliot turned, startled. Fear glazing his eyes.

"Hey. I saw you before I came here on the video they sent."

He winced, looked down, shame suffusing his cheeks.

"I wanted to help…. Now that I'm here, Is there anything I can do?"

He looked startled. Puzzlement flickered in his eyes, as if it had been a long time since he'd experienced kindness. He seemed to consider for a moment, then shrugged. "I…" he said in a raspy whisper. "I think I'm too broken…"

"No, you're not." Jason shut down his instinct to reach out for him. "No one's beyond help. I…might not be able to do much, but I'll try to be here for you as much as I—"

"Get him up," said Elena impatiently.

The guards grasped Jason's arms, wrested him to his feet.

"I don't have time for this. If you'd like to talk to him, you can later, but he usually stays in his room unless it's required. I've let him recover for the last few days, giving him some extra leeway. He still has his uses." She smiled indulgently down at him. He paled, looking sick.

"Come." She led Jason out of the room, and he had no choice but to obey, for the men grasped his arms tightly, guiding him.

They took him across the hall and Elena opened the door. She showed him to an almost identical room to Elliot's.

"If you'd like to attend supper, you have half an hour to get settled in before the call. Otherwise, you have freedom to stay in your room until the day after tomorrow, then attendance at breakfast is required. There is also a common room, a library…feel free to explore during free time."

"There is no freedom here."

"Freedom is relative. Be happy you're actually a high value target and you get the privilege of not starting out in the prison, as most new acquisitions do. I hope you appreciate the luxury we're giving you." She looked at him haughtily as if she were giving him one of the greatest gifts. "I will be busy most days, but sometimes I will come down to visit, or I will call you. See that you're properly prepared." She turned and strode out the door.

One of the guards slammed the door shut.

Jason dashed to the door, trying to open it, but there was no handle and barely a crack. Not enough to get any leverage.

Trapped.

A regimented schedule, like a prison. Even if it looked like a simple apartment, it was still a prison cell.

His heart felt as if it were shattering. He collapsed onto the couch and didn't move even when the call for supper sounded through the ceiling.

It wasn't like he'd experience any kind of real freedom if he stepped out of his cell. He didn't want to get up, didn't want to eat. Didn't want to move, didn't want to think. This room might be comfortable enough, but he was already sick of it. What made it worse was that he'd seen Elliot's room first, and it was linked to what that poor man had endured. This was all a façade. There was no protection from any sort of violation. They could see all his actions; they could use force with impunity.

He lay back on the couch, closed his eyes, and drifted into a dreamless parody of sleep.