Chapter 3

The interrogation room lights were blinding white, each ray needling my skin. I was locked into an alloy chair, the restraints biting so deep into my wrists they were starting to go numb. Across from me sat Dr. Lewis. Under the cold light, his face looked too perfect—no pores, no wasted movement, even his breathing seemed timed by an algorithm.

"Ms. Lane, your silence is wearing out my patience." He slowly adjusted his glasses and tapped the table with a perfectly steady click, click. Just then, the mechanical watch in my pocket trembled again. My thigh pressed against it, and…