Chimera: TalentBorn, #6

By C. S. Churton

The deadliest threats…

…Come from within.

Can Anna escape the demons of her past?

 

Hers isn't the only life at stake.

 

Pearce is on the run, but he won't rest until he's taken back control of AbGen. And he'll destroy anyone who tries to stand in his way.

 

Has freedom cost Anna her edge?

 

In the face of a deadly new threat, she must find a way to unite AbGen and the Ishmaelians under a new leader. If she fails, the fate of every living absa will be sealed.

 

With Scott by her side, can Anna triumph over the final adversity, or will she make the ultimate sacrifice?

 

You'll love this gripping urban fantasy because there comes a time when every hero must choose to stand and fight.

 

Get it now.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C. S. Churton
• Release date: Sep 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223822165

Book preview

Chapter One

Where the hell is Scott with my backup?

I’m crouching in the shadow of a twisted oak tree, with wildlife scurrying around way too close to me, an acre of woodland behind me and a genuine mansion in front of me, and all I can think – other than why the hell does it get so cold in this country – is that Scott should have been back by now. You’d think when you send someone to get backup they’d understand the implied urgency, right? And yet, somehow, it’s been – I glance at my watch – twenty minutes, and still no word.

If he doesn’t get back soon, I’m going in there alone.

Okay, scratch that. There is absolutely no way I’m going in there alone. Pearce – the same Pearce who caged me, tortured me, and brainwashed me – is in there, and he’s not alone. And even if he was alone – which he’s not – there’s no way I want to face him without Scott by my side. Which brings me back to my original question, the same question that has plagued womankind for generations, which is: where the hell is my errant boyfriend? It’s not like I sent him off for a pint of milk. When you send someone to bring back a squad of highly trained heavies with weapons, you tend to have some expectations about the timeliness of the arrival of said heavies. Besides which, Pearce is bound to have some heavies of his own in there, because that is most definitely not his house. And I know it’s not his house, because it’s the same house Scott and I staked out back when this whole mess started, the one that belongs to one of AbGen’s – the Abnormal Genetics Research Department’s – obscenely rich backers, and I’m pretty sure Pearce is here to rob it. Which means time is an issue, and dammit I’ll say it again – where the hell is Scott with my bloody backup?

It’s what, about a half mile to the nearest point he can get phone signal – a mile there and back. A mile plus a two-minute phone call does not equate to a twenty-minute absence. But it’s Scott, and he did literally save my life – more than once – so I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.

Meanwhile... well, what’s the harm in taking a little peek inside to see what we’re up against? Okay, I get why I couldn’t use my shifting talent to get backup, even though I could shift the lot of them from Langford House to this place in the blink of an eye, because the EM pulse the talent generates would give our presence away. That makes sense. But that doesn’t mean I have to sit around like a damsel in distress, waiting for Scott to come back with the stormtroopers. Unlike most of us absas, I have more than one talent. And one of those talents is astral projection: I can take a look inside that house without leaving this spot, and without giving us away. Plus, forewarned is forearmed. There’s no way Scott can be cross with me for getting valuable intel while he’s out breaking the record for the slowest mile in the history of mankind.

I ease a little further into the woods and sit cross-legged on the damp ground. I could do this standing up, but it feels a little conspicuous. Granted, there’s a ten-foot-high wall between me and the mansion, but Pearce – literally the man right out of my nightmares – is in there, and I don’t feel like taking chances. I close my eyes and slow my breathing, dropping into a light trance. It used to take me a long time to get into this state, but now I can do it in seconds. I find my sense of inner peace – I know, it sounds clichéd as hell – and focus on that silence inside me. Once I find it, I just think about the inside of the mansion, and it’s like I’m floating over it, Casper-the-ghost style. I blink my way through half a dozen rooms before I find them. Pearce, and two of his cronies. I don’t recognise them, but then I wouldn’t expect to – back when Pearce was ‘training’ me, I didn’t get to mix with too many other people. But they don’t matter. They’re not the ones who catch my attention. That grey-haired man standing there, he was once the centre of my world. Twice, actually: once when he was destroying it, and once when he was putting it back together again. And now, here I am again, staring at our very own mad scientist, Doctor Pearce. One day, I’m going to be rid of him entirely. If the fates are smiling, it will be today.

It’s hard to explain what’s so scary about Pearce. Somewhere in his sixties, with a benign smile and a face creased with laughter lines, he looks like someone’s kindly grandfather. Falling for that would be your first mistake. And I should know. It was mine. This man has developed lethal viruses that could wipe out thousands in the blink of an eye. He has perfected brainwashing techniques, and can listen to the sound of someone being tortured without a single emotion showing on his face. He’ll order that torture carried out without the slightest hint of hesitation if he thinks it will further his goals. He will ruthlessly exploit your weaknesses before you even know what they are. He is not a man to be underestimated.

But you’d never think it to look at him. And that’s why I’m not entirely surprised to see William Fitzpatrick adopting a confrontational stance in response to something Pearce has just said. After all, Fitzpatrick is standing in his own home, speaking to a man who he – mistakenly – believes used to take orders from him. That’s the trouble with the super-rich: they have a tendency to believe that anything can be bought for the right price. Pearce’s twisted version of patriotism isn’t for sale, but Fitzpatrick has put a lot of money into AbGen’s coffers over the years, and that makes him think he’s bought something.

He’s about to buy something, all right: a bullet. Pearce won’t be the one to pull the trigger, of course – that’s not his style. But I can tell by the slight elevation in his left eyebrow that he’s vexed. Fitzpatrick hasn’t noticed, but then, he’s not the one who spent months studying this face. It’s not what you think. For a long time, my very survival depended on predicting Pearce’s moods. When you’ve been locked in a cage and tortured, then you get to judge, alright? Until then, keep your opinions to yourself. I can read Pearce better than I can read myself. Better than I can read Scott. And it just reminds me of why I hate him so much. So stop distracting me. It’s hard enough to keep my focus as it is.

I’m sorry, Walter, but I simply cannot condone your plan. Our best option is to speak with those who are currently in control of Langford House: to bring them to the table and seek a peaceful resolution.

Pearce’s eyelid lowers a fraction, but Fitzpatrick carries on, oblivious. Fool.

There is no need for us to resort to violence against them.

Pearce stretches out a hand and places it on Fitzpatrick’s shoulder in a comradely gesture.

William, I admire your dedication to seeking a peaceful resolution, but we’re talking about a rebel faction here. Terrorists. There is no negotiating with these people, and they’re sitting on far too much power to be left alone. Can you imagine if they use our agents to spread destruction and dissent? They could reduce this country to a state of fear in a matter of weeks. No, we just cannot take that risk. Give me the funds I’ve asked for, and I will remove the threat.

It’s a long speech by Pearce’s standards, and for a moment it looks like it’s going to sway Fitzpatrick. Pearce oozes charisma, and the financier hesitates for a long moment. Eventually, though, he shakes his head.

No, I’m sorry. You must find another solution.

Pearce glances causally over his shoulder at one of his heavies, but from my lofty perspective I can see the tightening of his mouth. Oh, shit.

I blink, and I’m back inside my own body, sending a squirrel scampering off through the leaf litter, chattering in panic. I ignore it. We’ve got a serious problem. Pearce is going to execute Fitzpatrick, and then there’ll be nothing standing between him and the man’s vast wealth – or at least, whatever he has inside the house, which I’m sure is plenty to fund Pearce’s new army. The army he plans to use to wipe us out. I can’t let that happen.

Where the hell is Scott?

Chapter Two

I can’t afford to wait any longer. Trust me, I don’t want to go in there. Pearce aside, Scott will be pissed that I broke my promise to wait for him and not, in his words, ‘do anything reckless’. On the other hand, he’ll have a whole lot more to be pissed about if Pearce gets what he needs and wipes us out. Plus, if Pearce catches me, I’m dead anyway, and Scott won’t get the chance to yell at me. When you think of it like that, it’s kind of a win-win.

There’s no way I’m getting past Fitzpatrick’s security system – or over his wall – without a little help. Fortunately, my other talent, the one I’m currently not using to bring my damned reinforcements, is more than capable of getting me past those little inconveniences. As anyone will tell you, planning is not exactly my forte – even when I was under Pearce’s thrall, running around playing super-soldier, I was exactly that: a soldier. No-one ever expected me to do any actual thinking for myself, and there’s a good reason for that. I have a pretty poor track record when it comes to decision-making. But right now, even a bad plan is better than no plan, so I allow myself all of five seconds to come up with a plan of action. I have it nailed down in three. I’ll shift in, which will take out the power, and give me the element of surprise. First, I’ll take the heavy on the right. An elbow to the back of the neck will be lights out for him, and it won’t give the game away as quick as the pistol in my waistband. Next, a quick shift behind the other heavy, and he gets the same treatment. It will take no time at all, and the element of surprise should last that long. Probably. Last, I use my pistol to deal with Pearce before he can make his escape. After that, rescue Fitzpatrick and prove to him I’m not a terrorist, then go home for tea and medals. Simple.

Planning done, I take a deep breath, then reach inside myself to that place of fear that lurks right beneath the surface. This, too, used to take me a long time, but now I can shift in the blink of an eye. Still, I hesitate. Not because I’m afraid of Pearce, I just need to lock down in my head the positions of the four men. Except they might have moved by now. It’s been a good thirty seconds since I was overlooking them, and Pearce was right on the verge of giving an order. Maybe I should double check – no point in shifting in and then being as blind as the rest of them. I hastily amend my plan: I’ll drop into a trance, check where they are, then shift in and go all Xena on their behinds.

Okay, good, got it. I sink back to the ground, take another lungful of the cold night air, and let my heartrate even out. I bring the mansion back into my awareness, and–

A footstep.

Out here, not inside the building. I snap back into my body and fling my eyelids open, simultaneously springing to my feet with my hands raised in a guard position.

Easy, a voice whispers.

My eyes adjust, and Scott sharpens into focus. I drop my hands and exhale in a sharp huff.

You scared the crap out of me, I hiss, my heart thudding painfully inside my chest.

Sorry.

I roll my eyes. Sorry. Like that cuts it.

It’s a bloody good job I love you. Where’s the backup?

A few minutes away. They’ll send one strike team in through the front, and another to take out the security guards and phone lines. We’ll go in through the back with the third team, and–

I cut him off with a shake of my head.

We don’t have minutes. Pearce is about to kill Fitzpatrick. He’s probably already got the safe combination out of him. We need to go in now.

Just the two of us? He shakes his head. No, it’s too dangerous. We’re outnumbered, and if you’re right about what Pearce has planned, they’ll shoot first and ask questions later.

He’s only got two men with him. I’ll shift us in, and we can take one each.

Scott narrows his eyes at me, and I squirm under his scrutiny.

So, you just sat here, huh, keeping your guard up the whole time like you promised?

We needed the intel, I protest. Anyway, chastise me later, right now we need to go.

I take hold of his arm, but he tugs it gently from my grip.

Even so, I know you didn’t recon the entire building in the time I’ve been gone.

Well, no, but–

And I know you haven’t been here long enough to see who’s come and gone from the house.

No, I haven’t, but–

Which means there could be a dozen agents in there.

And one dead billionaire, if we don’t get a move on!

You’re going to be the death of me, you know that, right?

Yeah, but not tonight.

I make to take his arm again, but he shakes his head.

No, not like that. Too risky. We go in the old-fashioned way.

You mean, over the ten-foot wall?

It’s dark so I can’t be certain, but I’m pretty sure he’s rolling his eyes at me.

It’s ten foot – it’s hardly Mount Everest.

Well, yeah, the man has a point. I could get over it easily enough with a run up, and I imagine he could too. Still...

We’ll trip the alarm.

Exactly.

I say nothing. There’s really no point in arguing with insanity. And he clearly is insane, because this is on par with something Baldrick might have come up with. Jeez, and I thought I was bad at plans. When Scott sees I’m not taking the bait, he explains.

When the motion sensor is triggered, security will immediately start patrolling the grounds in that area – well away from where we’re headed. And they’ll still be chasing shadows by the time our backup gets here, giving them a clear path right to us.

You’re making the rather bold assumption that we’re not going to be residing inside a dog’s stomach by then. You do remember they have dogs they can turn loose, right?

Are you telling me Anna Mason can’t outrun a dog?

Anna Mason can’t outrun a kitten. It’s not like I ever need to, you know, what with the whole shifting thing.

Well, lucky for you, we won’t need to. Each patrol team only has one dog, and it’s kept on leash until the handler has eyes on the target. The rest are kept kennelled.

And how exactly do you know that?

I checked it out a few months back.

When, exactly? I demand in a hiss, hand on one hip. He’s looking as guilty as a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar – there’s definitely something he’s not telling me.

"Do you really want to talk about this now?" he hisses back.

Yeah, I think I do.

I checked it out while you were... gone.

While I was locked in one of Pearce’s cages, being tortured and brainwashed, he means.

Why? I work very hard to keep my voice even, but judging by the look on his face, I fail miserably.

It doesn’t matter, he grunts. I narrow my eyes in response. No way am I letting him off the hook that easily.

Fine, he says. When I couldn’t find you, I was going to come here. Figured I could blackmail him into getting Pearce to hand you over... or something.

Or something. ‘Something’ would have to be a hell of a lot more hands on than blackmail to have convinced Pearce to hand me over. Guess I’m not the only one who went mad for a while when I was locked up. I mean, that’s a whole new level of stupid. Aside from the fact it wouldn’t have worked...

You could have been killed!

I didn’t go through with it, okay? And speaking of going through with things, he nods over at the house, didn’t you say this was a little time sensitive?

Shit. He’s right.

To be continued, I warn him.

Yes, ma’am, he says, but the way he says it makes me think we’re going to be too busy tonight to talk about old mistakes. First, though, we’ve gotta go make some new ones. I pivot my eyes back to the house.

Race you over that wall.

Chapter Three

I land on the far side of the wall in a crouch that’s far more elegant than I deserve, given that I just kinda launched myself over it and let instinct take care of the rest. There’s a soft thud as Scott lands next to me, and we share a silent nod before he stalks across the lawn in a rapid crouch. I follow behind him, trying to make as little noise as possible – Scott’s confident assertions aside, I really have no desire to become a German Shepherd’s chew toy. I’d also rather avoid being shot, if at all possible. So, I carefully place each foot on the slick grass and move as quickly as I can without falling on my backside. No sign of any patrols yet – or any dogs.

The mansion is set in a dozen acres, which should keep the patrol busy for a while. If all goes well, we’ll only need a couple of minutes, and if all doesn’t go well, we’re going to have a lifetime to repent our mistakes. Of course, that lifetime might not amount to very much... Either way, Fitzpatrick’s security is the least of our concerns.

Scott knows his stuff. We’re two shadows in the darkness, cutting across the expansive lawn without drawing a flicker of attention. By the time the patrol reaches the point we breached the wall, we’ll be inside. We’re already coming up on the house, and we crouch lower so our heads aren’t visible against the window. Our shadows grow longer as we get closer and then disappear as we press up against the brickwork. I turn to Scott and give him my best ‘what now?’ expression. He flicks his gaze up to the window and back again. Of course. It’s not a good home invasion if you don’t break in through a window. It better not be alarmed.

I hold my breath as Scott pulls a knife from the sheath at his hip, and jimmies it between the glass and the frame. He gives it a twist and the window creaks, then budges a half-inch. I strain my ears for any sounds above my own pounding heart, but there’s nothing. No alarm. Guess Fitzpatrick thinks he’s safe enough with his security patrols. He should know better. He will after tonight.

Scott forces the window the rest of the way up, then lifts his head and scans inside. He climbs through and offers me his hand. Who says chivalry is dead? I accept it even though I don’t need it – I mean, I just jumped a ten-foot wall for crying out loud – and let him help me inside. The room’s brightly lit and lavishly decorated – and empty.

I twist my head round to Scott, but before I can mouth ‘which way’ he nods to one of the three doors leading out of the room. I don’t bother to ask how he knows because I’m guessing blueprints featured heavily in his suicidal plan, and I don’t want to think about that right now. I lock eyes on the door and follow him across the room, leaving muddy footprints across a cream carpet that probably cost more than my entire life’s earnings up to this point. Scott pauses with his hand on the doorknob, pulls out his pistol and glances at me meaningfully. I take the hint and reach for my gun, drawing it from my waistband and resting my finger on the trigger guard.

Scott eases the door open, and I get a glimpse of a figure through the crack. He has his back turned to us, facing... something. I can’t see what. Scott pushes the door a little further and then I can see. I clench my jaw. It’s Fitzpatrick, and he’s tied to a chair. Looks like Pearce decided he’d be a bit more forthcoming about the safe combination after a little heart-to-heart. His head is lolling to one side, and there’s a trickle of blood rolling down his face. His rapid breathing is the only sign he’s still alive – he’s out cold. Which can only mean Pearce has already got what he wanted from the billionaire. We’re out of time.

Scott knows it too. He nods to me and then the figure standing guard, then taps his own chest and points to something I can’t see. Someone. I crane my head and lay eyes on the grey-haired figure. Pearce. A shudder runs through me and I immediately want to argue. If anyone’s going to take down that sadist, it should be me. I fight down the urge. Now’s not the time to argue, and Scott’s right: we can’t trust that my programming won’t kick in and make me freeze. We can’t afford to chance it.

He pushes the door open further and slips through the crack. I watch him for a moment, then follow him through and start creeping towards my target. The man’s broad back is turned to me and he’s fully occupied standing guard over the unconscious figure. I can see a bulge where his weapon is holstered at his hip. I guess he figures a man tied to a chair doesn’t pose too much of a threat. Of course, some of Pearce’s cronies prefer their victims like that, but that’s another story.

The carpet absorbs the small amount of noise my footsteps would have made, and I’m a few feet away when Fitzpatrick stirs. He lifts his head, dazed, then his eyes widen and stare straight at me. Shit.

I’ll say one thing for Pearce’s goon – he doesn’t miss a trick. I launch myself forward as he starts to turn around. His hand is reaching for his hip, but I thud into him before he can get hold of his weapon. A mistake. I’m too close to bring my own weapon to bear now. On the other hand, I am a weapon. Pearce made sure of that.

A shout sounds from across the room – but it’s not Scott, or Pearce. It can only be the other bodyguard. I don’t have time to look, I’ll have to trust that Scott can take care of him. The heavy has stopped trying to draw his gun and is going for mine instead. Amateur. I let him wrap his hands around it, then slam a knee into his groin. As he crumples forward, mouth open in a silent cry of pain, I wrench my arm loose and drop an elbow into the back of his neck. He hits the ground with a loud thud. He’s not going to be causing any trouble for a while.

I’m about to wrest my gun back from under him when a flash of movement catches my eye. It’s Pearce, he’s making for the door. Dammit! I can’t let him get away, not when we’re so close to stopping him. Why the hell does this guy weigh so much?

I hear a grunt from behind me and pivot my head round. Scott’s guy is giving him a hard time. He’s got no weapon – I glance around and see it halfway across the room. I hesitate, torn. Help Scott, or go after Pearce?

Go! Scott shouts. I’ve got this.

My limbs won’t obey though, and I stay frozen to the spot. The guard throws a jab, leaving himself wide open when Scott blocks it. Scott slams his fist into the man’s stomach, and the air rushes out of him in a whoosh. The fight’s over; it will only be seconds until Scott takes him down now. And Pearce is already out of sight. Dammit! I abandon my attempts to get the gun – no time – and push myself to my feet.

Scott cries out behind me, and then there’s the unmistakable thud of a body hitting the ground. I spin around, heart in my throat. He’s on the floor, his entire body convulsing, and his face contorted in agony. I look round for the person causing it, and that’s when I see her standing by the door, a sadistic smile playing across her lips as electricity crackles between her fingers.

Hello, Anna.

Megan drops her hand, and Scott goes still. So still I can’t even see his chest moving. To hell with Pearce’s pet. I shift right to Scott’s side, coming up in a crouch over him, with my fingers pressed to his neck. His pulse is all over the place, but at least he has one. He’ll be okay. Thank God. His eyelids flicker, and that’s when I realise. I can still see him – my EM pulse didn’t take the lights out. Fitzpatrick must’ve found a way to shield the primary power source after my first visit here. But I don’t have time to think about that right now. Lights on means she knows exactly where I am.

I rise to my feet, my movements fluid and swift. Megan is regarding me, her head cocked to one side.

I could have taken you out first, of course, she says, her lips curving upwards, but where’s the fun in that?

That was a mistake. Pearce doesn’t like it when you make mistakes.

I don’t make mistakes.

Her face hardens and she raises her hand again. Nothing happens, of course. My EM pulse short-circuited her.

Tut, tut. You shouldn’t have let me shift. I advance on her slowly, putting myself between her and Scott. Now what are you going to do?

She drops her hand with a snarl.

I can still take you.

I extend an arm and beckon her forwards, once.

Try.

She launches herself forward with a kick that should have taken my head off my shoulders – if I’d still been there when it landed. As it happens, all that space between us gives me plenty of time to see it coming, and I take a quick side-step and throw a fist towards her face. She throws up an arm and blocks the strike with faster reflexes than I expected. The force of her return strike reverberates through my arm – that’s going to leave a mark – and before I can pull it back, she grips my wrist and yanks me forwards and off balance. I resist the instinct to pull back, and go with her instead, driving my fist into her solar plexus. Her hand collides with the side of my head, sending a flash of pain through me.

We break apart – her winded, and me seeing stars, and both take a breath, sizing each other up. She’s not as weak as I remember. She sucks in another breath, then draws herself upright, narrowing her eyes at me.

You’re slower than you used to be, Xena, she says.

Yeah, but you’re just as weak as you always were, Snow White, I lie. I might be slower, but I’m still more than you can handle. Step aside and let me go after Pearce. You don’t need to suffer.

She shakes her head and chuckles. Impressive, for someone who’s just been punched in the stomach.

Nice try. I’m going to make a gift of you to Doctor Pearce, so he can put you back in your cage where you belong.

Not a chance in hell. My jaw clenches and my fists follow suit. I’ll die before I let them cage me again. And she’ll die before I do.

I drop the tension from my shoulders so I don’t telegraph my attack, but she still sees me coming. She blocks my kick with a sweeping arm that sends it flying wide, and closes the inches between us until we’re nose to nose. She draws back a quarter inch, then slams her forehead at me. I move – too slow – and take a glancing blow to my cheek. Pain explodes through my face, but I grit my teeth and thrust an uppercut at her. She blocks – again – and then her elbow flashes towards my face. It clips the side of my head and I stumble back, dazed and barely standing. Something connects with my leg and then I’m on the floor. Instinct screams at me to move, so I roll away and see her foot hit the carpet where I’d been a split second before.

I keep rolling and get my hands under me, pushing myself to my feet and trying not to sway. Now would not be a good time to show weakness.

"Who were you? I ask, cocking my head and stalling for time as best I can. You weren’t always Pearce’s mindless slave."

I was nothing. And now I’m going to be the one who kills you.

Pearce won’t like that, I goad. He always did like me better than you.

Liar!

Then why is he so desperate to bring me in alive?

So he can punish you, she says, but her voice quivers with uncertainty.

I smile, and force a swagger into my step as I close the distance between us.

You don’t believe that. And why would you? He spent all his time with me. I bet you’re glad I’m not there anymore.

My stomach roils as I taunt her, and I try to hide from the memories at the same time as throwing them in her face.

He loved me best. Admit it.

Liar! she screeches again, and throws herself at me, arms flailing as she looses a flurry of punches. I block them all with ease, even seeing double. My arms sting from the force of fending her off, but its background noise compared to the throbbing inside my skull. I spare a glance over her shoulder, but Pearce is long gone. The bastard’s slipped right out from under me.

I growl in frustration and throw a punch at Megan. My fist slams into her ribs with a satisfying crunch, and she gasps and falls back a step, favouring her injury. I press my advantage, stepping in quickly and throwing another three punches. Two of them land, but she recovers in time to block the third, and traps my hand between her arms. I yank back, trying to pull it free, but she tightens her grip and grins at me.

Doctor Pearce doesn’t like broken things, she says, and then she twists and sends me crashing into the floor. I hit it hard and the air leaves my lungs in a sharp whoosh. I don’t get a chance to recover: a boot swings at me while I’m still gasping. I roll and catch only a glancing blow, but it’s still enough to send a fiery pain racing along my side. Her second kick finds my stomach and my hard-won air rushes out of me again, very nearly accompanied by my stomach contents. I cry out and try to twist away, but I’ve got no strength left. She knows it and I know it. I’m at her mercy, and Pearce beat the meaning of the word out of her a long time ago. I struggle to get my hands under me and try to push myself onto my hands and knees, but she only lets me get halfway up before her boot shoves me back to the floor with contemptuous ease. I hit the ground with a grunt and stare up at her with unfocussed eyes.

Not so tough now, are you? she says, sneering down at me. You’ve gotten soft on the outside. Doctor Pearce was right – you’re nothing without him.

I lay there, letting her