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She turned the music up high enough that it felt like the floor was vibrating, until it felt like they were standing inside the throat of a grumbling beast, waiting for it to speak.

Amina flinched slightly at the loud sound, her expression holding steady even as her body tensed.

She was still playing her part, and Isobel wondered how many times she had done this.

How many times she had stepped into a dangerous situation and made herself vulnerable, just to get to the truth of something.

Isobel’s fingers trembled slightly as she stepped back to the centre of the room. The older woman’s eyes flicked up to meet hers again, calm and unflinching despite the protective curl of her body.

“Worms belong on the floor,” Mikel said from behind her. His voice was sharp. Not unkind, but tense. A string pulled too tight, close to snapping. He was in full performance mode.

Isobel hesitated only for a second. Then she pressed on Amina’s shoulders, forcing her down to her knees.

The journalist obeyed wordlessly, her movements smooth and dignified, even though she was being degraded.

Her knees hit the floor, one hand still cuffed to the pole, her eyes tilted down and away from the mirrored wall, like a well-trained pet.

Isobel leaned down, her hair falling over her shoulders to curtain her face. “I slipped it into your coat.”

“Good,” Amina whispered back. “I need to know how much time you can give me.”

Isobel let her hand snap against the side of Amina’s face, not hard enough to truly sting, but Amina was quick to react. Her body jolted, and she flinched to the side.

Isobel bent lower, gripping her face and yanking it back to look at her. “Is it really our choice?”

“You’re the ones in danger here.” Anima spoke quickly.

“I’ll take as much time as you can give me, but …

I’m going to leave it up to you. I can publish the story in a matter of days now that I have that evidence, but the quicker I push it out, the less chance I have to gather more evidence, and that increases the risk of Callum Rowe and his inner circle finding some wiggle room.

These aren’t men and women you can easily accuse. ”

Isobel’s heart stuttered, and she lifted away, sharing a look with Mikel.

Anima knew what was on the USB. It sounded like she already had her article written.

Whoever had stolen the evidence and roped Ivan into carrying it into the Stone Dahlia must have already told her what was on it.

Maybe it was the only way to ensure she picked up the story.

Or maybe there was more going on here than they realised.

“Use the rod,” Mikel ordered, tilting his head to the wall. “Silver, stick by the door. Let’s see if we can make this worm wriggle.”

What the hell does it do? she questioned through the bond.

He responded, Electric shocks. Hand it to me first. I’ll make sure it’s on the lowest setting. It won’t cause her any pain, just small zaps.

She picked up the shiny silver stick with the black probes on the end and brought it to Mikel.

He passed his hand down the curve of her spine, dragging her into his body, the silver instrument stuck between them, nestling between her breasts in the short black dress she wore.

He ducked his head to press his lips to her ear as his fingers fiddled with the dial on the instrument.

“Tell her we can give her a week. We need to leave before next Friday. This has to be your last night in here.”

He released her, passing the instrument into her hands, and she walked back to Amina .

“This is going to hurt,” she warned, speaking the words slowly and obviously, her head held high.

She pressed it to the back of Amina’s hand.

There was a button on the end of the silver rod, and she pressed it now, the concern wiped from her face as Amina jerked and flinched.

Isobel dropped to a crouch, putting her face close again.

“Are you okay?”

“Barely a tickle,” Amina said, a hint of amusement in her eyes.

“We can give you a week,” Isobel said. “It has to be before Friday night.”

Anima didn’t pause to mull it over. “All right.”

“What else can we do to make sure Callum Rowe can’t shake this off?”

“Personal accounts. Handwritten, signed, with full personal details so that I can verify identities before I publish. I need anyone who’s willing to come forward and go on the record. You can’t trust the Ironside networks, so the hard copies will need to be dropped off outside campus.”

Dangerous and impossible.

Why not?

“Where would we drop them off?” Isobel stood, her head still lowered, hair curtaining her face. “I need to shock you somewhere other than your hand.”

Amina forced a tremble into her fingers as she lifted her skirt up to her knees. Isobel forced the end of the rod to her skin and shocked her twice on each leg, prompting her to crumple into a pile on the ground. She bent down again, forcing Amina to look at her.

“The main road just past the entrance to the academy grounds,” Amina rushed out.

“There’s a bus stop there; you can’t miss it.

There’s a row of dark green bollards along the side of the pathway with capping pieces.

Unscrew the tops and put the statements inside.

Carter, you can’t stay here, you know that, don’t you?

I don’t know who started all this, but they’re using you as a scapegoat, because Callum will figure out it was you who did this, and he’ll figure it out quickly. ”

“I know,” Isobel said. “We’ll leave Thursday night, but we can’t put the statements there any earlier.”

She angled the rod beneath the hem of Amina’s skirt, pressing it into her thigh, high enough that it might have looked like she was angling it somewhere else.

“I’m really sorry,” she whispered. “This whole thing is supposed to be … well, you know. You’ve been watching.”

“Just do it,” Amina said.

Mikel shifted behind her. “What are you waiting for?” he barked, his body feeling tense and impatient. Amina jolted in shock at his outburst, making Isobel realise they were being far too easy on her compared to the others she had secured to the pole.

Isobel pressed the button and watched with the same emotionless expression as she had used on the others as Amina writhed and wriggled along the floor.

“Say thank you,” Isobel ordered, sticking out the toe of her boot.

Anima fell onto it gratefully, acting like every pathetic worm she had watched over the previous three weeks.

Isobel crouched beside her again, patting her head as Amina kissed her boot. The other clients had heard her and Mikel’s taunts enough to imagine what she was saying.

“Is Thursday night okay?” she whispered.

“I’ll make it work,” Anima promised. “I’ll stay up all night—it’s best if we don’t give this any breathing room.

It’ll be live by Friday morning. Make sure the statements are signed, and the personal details are correct.

If I can’t verify them against settlement and Ironside records, I can’t use their statements. ”

“Okay.”

Amina’s fingers curled into the polished floor, her breath deliberately short and ragged as she briefly lifted her head, her knees splayed awkwardly beneath her.

The music pounded all around them in a frantic gurgle of sound.

From the outside, it looked exactly like it should—depraved, submissive, and humiliating.

“Carter,” Amina whispered hoarsely, her cheek once again pressed to the toe of Isobel’s boot. “This is our one chance. If we misfire on this, they will erase you. Permanently.”

Isobel’s throat tightened. “I know.”

She was sore and shaky when she stepped out of the shower and changed into one of Theodore’s T-shirts, hooking a robe over it before leaving her room and meeting with the others in Kalen’s office.

The stress from the failed attempts at making contact with Amina combined with the successful attempt had taken a toll on her, weighing heavily on her body.

She hadn’t physically done too much during her “performance”, but her muscles ached as though she had run a marathon, and she was almost overcome with exhaustion.

It was happening.

Something was finally happening.

She wouldn’t have to open another of those mirrored doors and endure the heavy panting breaths of another “client” as she swallowed bile and followed Mikel’s orders.

She wouldn’t have to go through a whole week of recovering and building herself up to do it again, and again, in a constant loop of burning and crashing and clawing back to the edge of sanity .

There would be no more marketing plans. No more underhanded moves and countermoves.

No more acting .

The outside bubble was about to burst, and they were all about to find out which was more toxic: Ironside … or the real world.

As soon as she stepped into the room, she could see a similar crash in everyone else’s energy levels.

It was almost as if their bodies had gone into lockdown, sensing what they would have to do in a week and conserving all their energy for their escape.

She glanced around at their drawn expressions, cataloguing a fresh slew of injuries decorating what she could see of their skin.

Everyone else had showered and changed, as the cleaners had been in Sloan’s office when they got home, requiring them to split up and regroup after the dorm had properly emptied for the night …

but they didn’t look refreshed from their efforts.

Kalen was covered up even more than usual—his hair damp from washing every inch of his body, a sweater tossed over his T-shirt and socks on his feet.

The urge to demand why he felt the need to cover so much skin—and attempt to find any scent or marking on him from his date—was strong and noxious inside her, but she pushed it down.

She knew all about covering up when she felt violated.

He wasn’t doing it to hide anything from her. He was only trying to comfort himself .