Ch.12: The Devil's bargain

"I will not be an accomplice to murder," I said, my voice barely a whisper in the sterile hum of the lab.

Thorne didn't blink. He walked over to a steel tray lined with surgical instruments. Scalpels, forceps, retractors. They gleamed under the harsh white lights, razor-sharp and waiting.

"Murder is a legal term," he said, picking up a scalpel and turning it over in his fingers. "And the law doesn't apply in this room. Out there, you're a dead woman with a fake name. In here, you're essential personnel."

He took a step toward me.

"Look at the numbers, Elena. My wife is dying. She is a philanthropist. A visionary. Her life saves thousands. Your daughter... she is a biological anomaly. A resource. Is one infant life worth the thousands Isabella will save?"

"She's a baby," I spat. "Not a battery."

"She is both."

He stopped inches from me, the scalpel held loosely at his side.

"You have two choices. Choice A: You refuse. I call security. They drag you to the basement. You disappear, just like the real Mara Kovic. And then I bring Mrs. Higgins in here. She's heavy-handed. She doesn't understand dosage. She'll drain the child dry in a week."

He let that hang in the air. A week. Seven days of torture for Daisy before her heart gave out.

"Or Choice B," he continued, his voice softening to a velvet purr. "You agree. You monitor the child. You calculate the maximum safe extraction volume. You ensure she eats, sleeps, and thrives. You keep her comfortable. You keep her alive."

He raised the scalpel, pointing the tip at my throat.

"You become her guardian angel. And in return, I give you a salary that would make a surgeon weep, and I guarantee your safety. As long as the baby produces, you breathe."

My mind raced. I looked at the door. Keypad lock. Biometric scanner.

I looked at the window. Reinforced glass.

I looked at Thorne. He was taller, stronger, and armed.

If I fought him now, I would lose. And Daisy would be left alone with a butcher.

I needed time. I needed access. I needed to know the schedule, the security codes, the layout of the lab. I couldn't get that from a cell in the basement.

I forced my breathing to slow. I forced the rage down into the pit of my stomach where it burned like acid.

"What are the terms?" I asked.

Thorne smiled. It was the smile of a man who had just won a chess game he knew was rigged from the start.

"Simple. You live in the nursery. You handle all feedings and changing. Twice a week, you bring her here for the procedure. You prep the site. You monitor her vitals during the draw. And you never, ever speak a word of this to anyone."

"And if I try to leave?"

"Then I release the footage of you breaking into my home with a fake identity. I release the medical records showing your history of 'psychosis.' And then... I finish what nature started with your daughter."

He held out his hand. Not the one with the scalpel. The empty one.

"Do we have a deal, Nurse Vance?"

I looked at his hand. It was manicured, clean, steady. The hand of a healer who had decided to play God.

I looked at the isolation chamber where his wife lay sleeping—or waiting.

I thought of Daisy's face when the color came back. I thought of the warmth of her body against mine.

I couldn't save her today. But if I stayed, I could fight for her tomorrow.

I reached out. My skin crawled as my palm touched his. His grip was cold and dry.

"Deal," I said.

He squeezed my hand, sealing the pact.

"Excellent choice. You can start by prepping the donor site. We need 50cc's immediately."

He turned back to his machines, dismissing me as easily as he had hired me.

I stood there for a moment, staring at my own hand. I felt dirty. I felt complicit.

I shook the hand of the devil. Now I just need to find a knife to stab him in the back.