"Van, you seem like a nice guy, and I'm really trying to keep my cool here. But I'm going to lose my shit very soon if I don't get some answers." I huffed, struggling to keep composure. "What are they going to do to me—to us? What have they already done?"

He ignored my questions, instead focusing on the heart monitor. The number on its screen had shot up to 150, indicating how many beats per minute my heart was pounding at.

"You're in tachycardia," he said.

I stared at him, my incomprehension displayed clearly on my face.

"Your heart rate shouldn't be that high. Certainly not while you're lying down, entirely still," he said. His eyes suddenly became cold and examining. They swept up and down, from my head to my feet.

His eyes paused at my torso, where my lungs inflated and deflated rapidly with each ragged breath. For the first time, I registered that I was wearing a medical gown. Someone had changed my clothes while I was unconscious, I realized with horror.

Then Van noticed my hands. I'd unconsciously clamped onto the edge of the bed with an iron grip. My knuckles were white. I forced my stiff fingers to relax, then drew my hands away.

But an uncontrollable trembling in my fingers became apparent. I shoved my hands underneath me, pinning them to the bed and out of his sight.

Van leaned back in his chair. His eyes, though frigid blue, regained their warmth. "This isn't official, but I would likely diagnose you with some form of anxiety." He sighed, absentmindedly clicking the pen in his hand. "And I wouldn't be surprised if many of you have PTSD because of all the trauma you've been through."

I grit my teeth. "Wouldn't anyone freak out a little in these sort of circumstances?"

"You have a point," he admitted, "but has this sort of anxiety attack happened to you before?"

Immediately, I thought of my idiotic night in the club with Kyle, when I had a similar episode. I also recalled the meltdown I had when Jason found me in the school's hallway. I cringed at the memory.

Those were understandable reactions. I had been under constant, intense stress, for years. I'd been torn from my family, hunted down, and shot at. I was forced to be hypervigilant for danger at all times, which tends to fry one's nerves after a while.

But then I thought harder.

Slowly, I recalled many distant memories in which I felt the very same way, long before I had ever been forced out of my home. Countless times, my lungs heaved for air but never managed to extinguish the burning sensation of suffocation in my chest. My heart and mind fought to see who could race the fastest, and my hands shook so often that my mother worried I was developing a tremor.

There was a painful pang in my heart when I remembered my mother. I tried never to think of my past life.

Van appeared to take my extended silence as an affirmation. "I am authorized to give you a dose of diazepam," he said.

I stared at him.

"It's a long-acting benzodiazepine."

"You're just showing off now," I muttered.

His lips formed a playful grin. "They used to call it Valium. It's been used as an anxiolytic. It'll calm you down, mellow you out."

I felt my face twist into a scowl. "I am calm."

"Sure, sure," he said, incredulous. "You know, people abuse this stuff. It could be fun." He raised and lowered both eyebrows, clearly trying to entice me.

"What are you going to do to me when I'm 'mellowed out,' Van?" I asked, accusatory.

His face went stone cold in the blink of an eye. "Face it, Tess. All of those things are going to happen to you with or without the Valium. Trust me, it'll be a lot easier with."

His sudden change in demeanor sent my spine tingling with unease. My heart rate had slowed to around 100 beats per minute, but it began to climb again.

He swiftly rose from his chair. "They don't want us putting you through undue stress. It could affect the data. I'm going to go ahead and administer it, with or without your permission. It's for your own good."

"No!" I shouted, jumping off the cot I'd woken up on.

But I didn't make it very far. In an instant, my world was pain.

Sharp, excruciating jolts radiated from the base of my neck to my extremities. My muscles shuddered and twitched until my legs crumped beneath me; my head was on the floor before I even realized I was falling.

There was an ungodly shriek, and I slowly realized it was erupting from my own throat. I had to make a conscious effort to choke off the sound by halting my breath. The current continued to rush through me, as if all of my nerves had been wrapped by a live wire surging with electricity.

Just as quickly as it had started, the immense pain vanished. I was left sprawled on the floor, desperately gasping for air through gritted teeth.

"I'm sorry," Van said flatly. "They put it on the highest setting with the hope that you learn more quickly. Remember, no sudden movements."

He swiftly knelt at my side with a syringe in hand. I could do little but trace his movements with my eyes. He reached out to tug my gown's short sleeve up higher.

There was a dull pinch in my upper arm. Compared to the shock I'd just felt, it barely registered.

"All done. You'll feel better soon, Tess."

He pushed away from the ground until he was upright, towering over me for a moment. The syringe in his hand was now empty. Without another word, he turned and left the room.

I was too terrified to move. I lay on the floor for an indeterminable amount of time, utterly motionless.

After a long while, I heard the door creak open again.

This time, from my vantage point on the floor, I glimpsed more than one pair of shoes step into the room. I fixated on the texture of one pair—heavily worn brown leather. Something about them caught my eye, but I couldn't pinpoint what. My thoughts were clouded by a dense haze of fog. They appeared as vague shapes in the distance, and no matter how hard I tried to concentrate, I couldn't quite make them out clearly.

"Tess, I imagine you're beginning to feel very...relaxed, but there's someone here to see you."

It was Van again. His voice was pleasant—as soft and smooth as velvet. I hadn't noticed before.

Everything was becoming fuzzy around the edges. It felt like I was sinking, yet I was entirely warm and comfortable. I would be content with nearly anything that might happen to me.

Slow, heavy footsteps approached from across the room. "God, how much did you give her? Will she even know I was here? I want her to remember." This second voice had an uglier, gravelly tone, but it did nothing to tarnish my tranquility. I closed my eyes.

"10 milligrams, intramuscular."

"She didn't need that much with no tolerance. She's tiny."

"I'm sorry, doctor," Van responded. At something he said, there was a dull pang of panic in my mind, but was quickly smothered by the increasingly heavy fog.

I opened my eyes and stared at the brilliant, glimmering lights above. Suddenly, their mesmerizing beauty was obscured by a face leaning over me. I frowned in confusion.

"Hello, Tess. I told you we'd be seeing each other," Doc said. His mouth stretched into a vile smile.