Page 92 of Bitter Truths

“Don’t we?” The words taste bitter. “He seemed pretty confident when he explained the... safeguards.”

Chemical dependency. Biological fail-safes. Bodies turning against themselves if we tamper with the bond or try to avoid our next doses.

Death disguised as freedom.

It’s what they’ve told us for years.

Dr. Montgomery’s insurance policy.

“Could be lies,” Weller says, but his voice lacks conviction. “Fear tactics to keep us compliant.”

“Or it could be real,” Tristan adds quietly. “And we’re one attempt at freedom away from killing ourselves and leaving Bianca to fend for herself.”

The uncertainty is almost worse than the truth. We swing between guarded hope that it’s all a lie and the sick fear that they’re truly that diabolical. Dr. Montgomery and Whitney are capable of anything.

“A few more days,” Tristan murmurs. “Until Whitney returns and finds out we’ve been lying to her face.”

Time is running out faster than blood from a fresh wound.

We’ve put Bianca in considerable danger just by being near her.

The unfairness of it makes me want to put my fist through the wall.

I picture Bianca curled up on the couch while Whitney sharpens the knife behind her back. We need to figure out a way to protect her.

How? No fucking clue.

She’d be better off returning to the woods.

She has no idea how much she’s already saved us just by being here. How much these stolen moments mean when you’ve been counting down to the end for years.

We’ve been ghosts, going through the motions, surviving each day, planning for an escape that never came.

She gives us something worth fighting for, even if we can’t win.

From the living room comes the soft sound of movement—Bianca adjusting in her sleep, unaware of the conversation happening twenty feet away.

She doesn’t know she’s already on Whitney’s radar.

The countdown has begun.

And I’m terrified we’re going to lose her all over again.

But I don’t see an outcome where we don’t.

We’re fucked. She’s fucked.

She just doesn’t know it yet.

19

BIANCA

My eyes open and darkness swallows me whole.

Where the fuck am I?

I bolt upright, and my hand shoots out to find a knife that isn’t there before my eyes adjust to the unfamiliar shadows of sleek furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows.