Page 33 of Operation: Defiance

That’s the worst part—knowing they’re watching to see how long it takes me to pull myself back together. And waiting to see if, eventually, I…can’t.

I manage it. Eventually. I always do.

“State the rules.” Another male voice I can’t place. I don’t think it’s familiar, but I can’t be sure.

“I’m not to move unless instructed. I don’t speak without direction. I ask for water. I ask for the bathroom.”

“And?”

For a fraction of a second, my mind blanks. My heart stutters, a hard, panicked beat that throws off my breathing. Then the missing piece snaps into place.

“Non-compliance results in correction.”

“Acceptable.”

Hands withdraw with no apology or explanation, and they leave me alone again.

Every nerve feels abraded, like my skin has been turned inside out.

I curl forward as much as the restraints allow and press my fingers together, hard, until I can feel my pulse. This will count against me. I know it. But I do it anyway.

They’re calibrating.

They’re learning how much they can do to me before I can no longer recover.