June – POV
I freeze the second I see him.
He stands just inside the door, tall, crisp lab coat still smelling of chemicals even years later, silver name badge unreadable from the glare of the overhead lights.
It's him.
"Hello, Number Twelve," he croons, almost sweetness in his voice. His mouth barely moves—he's been doing this too long.
"You grew up… beautiful. My most successful project."
My stomach twists. My bones go cold. I taste bile and fear and hotel room tequila all at once.
Project. The word echoes like a guillotine.
He steps inside, heels clicking on the tile. No one else is here. Just him. And me.
Inches between us that feel like miles.
"Did you ever give in to the voices?" he asks, eyes zooming in on my face so entirely I want to vanish into the wall.
I can't speak. My throat tightens like I swallowed cotton.
He smiles—what he thinks is a kind expression.
Such a familiar look… From so long ago.
*******
Flashback: Five-Year-Old June
