The Nightmare's Kiss (Monster Research Facility Book 1) by Skyla Gray

Author:Skyla Gray [Gray, Skyla]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Independent
Published: 2023-09-07T16:00:00+00:00

16

Chapter Sixteen

I don’t feel rested in the morning. However, it’s time to face my reckoning. I bury my exhaustion under makeup—doing my eyeliner twice because my hand won’t stop shaking—and throw on a particularly professional outfit before heading to the Facility.

I swear I can feel eyes on me as I walk through security and down the long hallway toward the room where I’m supposed to meet Dr. Wright. But it’s empty except for me, making my heels echo eerily. It feels strange to pass by my usual lab and head deeper into the building, like I’m trespassing somewhere I’m not supposed to be. But soon I find the room and pause outside to wipe my sweaty palms on my pants and straighten my shirt.

When I step into the room, panic hits like a fist to the gut. I wasn’t sure what to expect when I walked in here, but it certainly wasn’t to see Ethan, Dr. Wright, and an older man I don’t recognize sitting on one side of a table, and an empty chair on the other. It looks like a job interview, or an intervention, or… God, I don’t know, but definitely something awful.

“Have a seat,” Ethan says, flashing his usual amiable grin. But I don’t relax; I know not to trust that smile. I stay wary as I lower myself into the chair. It’s hard metal, uncomfortable, and shorter than the seats the others are in, so that I feel small and vulnerable beneath them.

But it’s been designed for that, I tell myself. It’s meant to make me feel tiny and weak, urge me to confess my wrongdoings or accept abuse from my superiors, and I’m not going to do either. I stiffen my spine even as metal digs into it and plaster on a smile. “Good morning,” I say. “What is this about?”

“Oh, nothing bad,” Ethan says, again in a carefully warm voice. I don’t trust it for one second.

I glance at Dr. Wright for more insight, and she gives me the tiniest nod. It’s oddly reassuring, making me think of her words to me the last time we met, about how she wants me to keep working here. But the man I don’t recognized is tight-lipped and stony-faced. He looks to be somewhere in his fifties, with a close-cropped beard and hair that might be called salt-and-pepper by someone generous, though there’s very little pepper left. Wire-framed glasses frame a pair of intense blue eyes under bushy brows, a combined image that could make him look like a genial grandfather but somehow don’t. Instead, he looks more like a retired military man, or the kind of politician who opposes basic human rights for women. I dislike him on sight, and the way he looks at me—somewhere between contemptuous and bored—does not warm me to him.

“We’d like to ask you a few questions about your experiences with Subject X-13.” I’m relieved when Dr. Wright speaks up. I don’t trust her much, but she still feels like the closest thing to an ally I have in this room.

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