Page 53 of Dark Night of the Soul

He turned toward the door, already satisfied.

“We’ll give you some time to rest,” he added.

The door opened. Before he stepped through, he glanced back at me.

“Oh, and Anna?” he said pleasantly.

I looked up.

“There’s no need to resist. You’re here for good.”

Rage flickered. Hot. Bright. Then filed itself away in the place where my emotions now lived. Accessible. Controlled. Distant.

The door closed behind him. I sat there long after he was gone, my hands folded neatly in my lap. He thought I’d learned obedience.

What I’d learned was timing.

And I was going to use that to my advantage.

Time passed. Minutes. Could’ve been hours. The room had no windows. No clock. Nothing but waiting.

The door opened.

Not Sebastian this time. Not the doctor. The nurse. The same one who’d bandaged my cheek hours ago. Young. Blue eyes wary—she’d removed her mask now.

She carried a tray. Fresh bandages. Antiseptic.

“I need to check the wound,” she said. Her voice was quiet. Careful. “Make sure it’s healing like it should.”

I remained on the bed. Hands on knees. Watching her approach.

She was nervous. I could see it in the way she held the tray. The way she wouldn’t meet my eyes.

She saw what I did in that observation room. She knew I was dangerous now. Hell, I knew I was dangerous now.

She set the tray on the small table beside the bed. Pulled on fresh gloves.

“This might sting,” she warned.

She peeled away the bandage. The air hit the wound, and I sucked in a breath. Not from pain. From the sudden awareness of it. The heat. The swelling. She cleaned it with antiseptic. Efficient. Gentle. Applied fresh ointment. New gauze.

“There,” she said. She reached for my wrist. “I need to check your vitals.”

Her fingers closed around my pulse point.

The world sharpened.

Threat. Proximity. Respond.

I moved before thought caught up.

My hand locked around her wrist. Twisted. She gasped—more surprise than pain.

I was already on my feet. Had her turned, arm bent behind her back at an angle that would dislocate if I pushed more.

The nurse struggled. Not much. Enough.

Her elbow came up—panicked, defensive—and caught my face.