Page 22 of Glutton for Punishment

“He has authorized escalation. All measures short of death to induce manifestation.” His eyes flick up, meeting mine. “According to the Councilor’s observations, your abilities responded when you succumbed to your emotions.”

He steps closer. Too close. I smell antiseptic and something sour beneath it.

Then he leans in, mouth brushing my ear, and whispers, “So let’s make you emotional, shall we?”

His hand clamps around my arm and shoves me forward. I stumble, forced to walk as he steers me toward one of the glass rooms lining the lab. The walls shimmer along the observation area, proving wards are in place. That’s why I’m still uncuffed.

There is a single chair waiting at the edge of the room, bolted to the floor, backed up against the glass wall. Leather straps hang from the arms and legs. Small, evenly spaced holes puncture the wall behind it.

My stomach drops. This won’t be fun.

He slams me down into the chair before I can brace myself.

The straps come next. Wrists. Ankles. Thighs. Chest. One across my forehead, forcing my gaze forward. Each buckle clicks shut with brutal finality, tightening until I can hardly breathe.

The mannequin from yesterday stands mounted on the wall across from me, its head tilted, blue eyes, and blonde hair. A mockery. A reminder of Atticus and the stakes that are in place.

Plinth doesn’t speak as he works. He just watches me like I’m an insect pinned to a board.

When he’s finished, he steps into the glass viewing room. The door seals. His voice crackles to life over the speaker, stripped of even the pretense of humanity.

“Day two of Project Nexus commencing.”

I snort despite myself. Project Nexus. That’s it? All this effort, and that’s the best they’ve got?

“Testing will include electrical stimuli designed to provoke an elevated emotional response, specifically anger.”

Silence swallows the room as my muscles coil, waiting.

I can get through this. I’m a Wrath at my core. Pain is nothing.

The first jolt is small. A sharp pinch at my ribs—more of a quick sting than pain. I flinch, testing the straps. They don’t give.

Then a stronger pinch strikes at the flesh of my neck. A hot, snapping surge that makes my teeth clack together. My skin feels as if someone branded it.

I hiss, breath stuttering, body trying to recalibrate. Trying to adapt.

The third hits my hip like an explosion. I scream as the pain rips through me, white-hot and blinding. Before I can even draw another breath, a fourth slams straight into the center of my back. My skin must be melting.

I arch against the restraints, every muscle screaming for release, for escape, for anything. The chair holds as he straps bite into my skin.

Another strike. My shoulder. Tears spill before I can stop them, sliding uselessly down my temples. My tolerance for pain is pushing to the breaking point.

Again. And again. And again.

My entire body convulses as the current tears through me. I scream until my throat burns raw, until my voice cracks and breaks and keeps going anyway.

I try to summon rage, real rage, but all I feel is pain. Endless, consuming pain.

Another jolt crashes through me and I sob, the sound ripping itself from my chest. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. Can’t remember how to exist outside of this chair.

Keep it together. For your friends. You’ll see them again. For Atticus.

The thought barely forms before the worst one hits—at the base of my skull.

The world detonates as white floods my vision, then turns to nothing at all.

I fall into the dark.