Page 123 of Dose

THEON

The sublevel keeps its own time.

The lights do not change. The air scrubbers do not tire. Morning arrives only when the communications panel announces the oh-eight-hundred threat review and Darius sends breakfast down through the dumbwaiter.

The first review brings worse news. One of Korte’s Chicago teams passed within eighteen miles of the building during the night, and Marcus has tied four Korte-linked units to supply traffic staging through Billings. They appear to be supporting the Montana property rather than joining the search here, but the distinction is not comforting.

Nikolai gives Isla the current assessment and the same options as before. She can remain on the secure level or transfer to the secondary safe house. She can also leave protection entirely, although no one recommends it.

She tests the release, watches the blast door open and chooses another day underground.

At nine fifteen, she sits cross-legged on the narrow bed with her laptop balanced on her knees, glaring at freight manifests as if hostility might force them to confess.

“Four teams staging through Billings,” she says. “Medical gases, network hardware, steel, personnel. Korte is building something in Montana.”

“Fortifying something,” I correct. “We still don’t know whether she’s building it for us.”

“I don’t like any version of it.”

Neither do I.

She scrubs both hands over her face. Her hair has gone from a ponytail to a braid to loose around her shoulders since we came below. The shadows beneath her eyes have deepened by degrees.

“I hate this,” she says.

“The room?”

“The waiting. I can handle the room as long as the door keeps opening. I can’t handle having nowhere to put all of this.” She taps two fingers against her temple. “My body thinks we’re trapped. My brain knows we’re safer here. Neither one will shut up.”

I take the laptop only after she lets go of it.

“Your Montana model has been submitted. Marcus has the live files. Dominic won’t become easier to find because you stare harder.”

“You have a proposed alternative.”

“Several.”

I pull the duffel from beneath the bed and set it where she can see it.

Her gaze settles on the burgundy rope coiled inside.

“You brought a curriculum into protective shelter.”

“I brought options. Nothing happens until we discuss them, and agreeing now does not commit you later.” I sit beside her. “Rope and a blindfold today, if you want them. Edging. Tomorrow, perhaps anal play. Another day, the remote vibrator for a longer scene. We decide before each one. You can cancel any of it without giving me a reason.”

Her pulse changes beneath the skin of her throat. I know the tell from months of watching her, but I wait for her mouth.

“And the fourth day?” she asks.

“We find the limit, if you’re still interested. We do not cross it.”

She studies me, then closes her laptop herself and sets it on the floor.

“I’m interested.”

The rope is soft-laid cotton, burgundy because black would look too much like equipment from Site Nine.

Soft does not mean harmless. Rope can tighten, compress a nerve or abrade skin if the person holding it becomes careless. I show Isla the safety shears and place them beside my knee before I touch her wrists.