She was raised her entire life to know two things as absolute fact. There would come a day when she would have to fight to take her rightful place, and she would succeed. Her mother had told her every day that she’d been engineered to fit perfectly into the system designed for her, and Isobel believed her absolutely. She had been created to control and save humanity, and she would not fail. Failure was simply impossible.

There’d be trials, yes. In fact, she was going through one right now. Every hero faced them. She would come out on top. She was fated for success. It didn’t matter that her mother’s mission was no longer the official party line. She could handle it herself, and when it came, success would be all the sweeter. Those in the government had grown weak, no longer prepared to do whatever must be done. It didn’t matter. She would show them all.

Her world was focused, down to exactly what she needed to be triumphant in the current trial, and nothing more. The pieces were all falling into place. She’d tracked them down, gotten close to their base without the poor idiots even realizing. She just had to solve the local resistance problem and then she’d take her army back offshore, where officials were less concerned with “ethics”—Isobel made a face—and more interested in what her program could deliver them.

First thing upon waking, she would take care of her morning ablutions and then sit, quiet and still. Her upbringing had been worldly, encompassing many different faiths and tools. A tutor from her childhood had believed that breath was the life force of the world, the power inside your soul. If she could harness it, she could do great things.

Like finally move the fucking pencil.

She spent hours, sitting and staring at her desk, re-enacting the breathing exercises she’d learned as a child. She closed her mind to everything outside, including everything and everyone currently residing in the compound, and focused her mind on that desk. After hours—days—of concentrated staring, she knew the very image of it. The grain in the wood, every little dent and scratched imperfection, the worn polish of the lacquer. She could form the image in her mind just as easily as if she were looking at it, eyes open.

She spent an entire day doing nothing but counting the lines ingrained in the wood. She understood their patterns, even researching the materials, the wood, understanding it down to the molecules forming it. She would understand it entirely, and then she’d be able to move it with her mind. Understand something—know how it works—and you can control it. That lesson was clear from her mother since birth.

She stared at the desk, unblinking, until her eyes grew dry and scratchy. Then she closed them and pictured it in her mind—every scratch, every groove. She concentrated until her hands were scrunched into fists and her lungs grew tight from lack of oxygen.

Nothing.

Finally, she could withstand it no longer and her eyes flew open as she inhaled, gulping in air. If only she could master ultimate control of her own body. It was holding her back, needing things she didn’t have time for. Already, she’d cleared herself of toxins, giving up cigarettes. What else could she purge herself of until this was all she needed? She could live on power. Mastering this task—this simple task—would ensure she had enough to last her lifetime.

But still, the desk sat. Disobedient, just like every other piece of furniture that had once been in the room. She’d removed it all, lamps, chairs, even her bed, when it failed to do her bidding. She would control her entire world, soon, but today it was her desk. She looked up, seeing it in a new light. How had she missed it before? There was something there, something evil, working against her. She could almost sense the defiance. It was everywhere. What the hell was it? How had she missed it before?

That would not do. She was going to have to start a new regime, exert more control. If the desk would not move, then she would use people. They would do whatever she asked of them. Fear was a wonderful motivator. If she found that one of her people was the cause of this . . . disobedience seeping through the air. Well, she’d simply solve the problem. There was no room for anything else, not anymore.

She pressed a button on the wall behind her, sweeping her robe over her body and securing it. She was beautiful. Her mother had told her endlessly how to use it, but her beauty wasn’t needed today. The man she’d called was undeserving of it.

“Isobel?” Steven’s voice came through the wall speaker. An experiment, and a failed one, but he was large, and useful to keep around for the heavy lifting.

“Have the desk destroyed.”

She clicked off the intercom

Steven entered the room, silently. He wasn’t allowed to speak to her in person. None of them were. Her voice was to be saved, as was every part of her. She didn’t even like to use the intercom system, but at times it was necessary. Her cell had gone the same way as her computer. Who knew what the radio waves and EMF might be doing to her powers? She would eliminate everything standing in her way, until she learned how to do what the other could.

Sienna. Isobel seethed as the name rolled through her mind. She forced herself to forget it. She was nothing, of no consequence. She would either be captured and give up her secret, or Isobel would destroy her also. After she studied the girl, found out what make her tick, of course. That was the only possible way it could go.

She hunched her shoulders, muscles tensing at a loud creak and then scraping sound, as Steven dragged the desk from her room. The noise grated on her, jangling her nerves. As soon as he was gone, Isobel lay down on the floor where the desk had been and tried to attune herself to any energy circling the room. The other’s life was simple. She was on the run and had only herself to worry about, while the weight of saving the world rested on Isobel’s shoulders.

She would forget that, concentrate only on herself, until she figured out how to make all this work. She closed her eyes, imagining her body relaxing. Damn, she was so tense. Everyone expected so much from her. They looked to her for guidance, for their next meal. They wanted too much. Even her own body was betraying her, refusing to do as she asked. Perhaps it was time to start thinning the herd a little—starting with Steven. Yes, she’d remove all distractions.

Decision made, a small amount of tension drained from her body. She exerted her control, letting herself focus inward.

Relax.

Her twisted muscles refused to yield.

Relax.

Goddamn it! The effort she was exerting to try to force herself to relax was only making her more tense. What was this? Something was seeping through her world, destroying her every effort. There had to be something blocking her. Nothing else made any sense.

“Isobel?” Steven’s voice came through the intercom. Hesitant, quiet. She ignored him. He’d be gone soon enough.

“Isobel,” the voice came again, nagging her. “We’ve captured one of them. Only a man, but one of them. He was found walking out of town. He killed two of our men, but we took him in the end.”

Her head snapped up. Who had broken away and been stupid enough to walk directly into her hands? Better yet, who was this going to disable? Those girls were so stupid, tying themselves to a man. That could only serve to make them weak, compromised. There was nobody that could hurt Isobel, or be used to force her to comply. A bright smile painted her face. This was exactly what she needed. It didn’t matter who they had. The stupid sense of friendship—no, of family—the girls had struck up was going to be their undoing in the end. They wouldn’t leave one of their own to suffer, and when they came, she’d have them all.

She dressed, quickly and efficiently. A pair of pants, long-sleeved shirt, and sturdy boots. She didn’t need fancy clothes. Isobel wasn’t going to charm anyone today. There was a far more effective method. Leaving her room, she walked swiftly through a series of subterranean tunnels, to where she’d set up her lab at this place. It was a simple setup, nothing special. She’d lost all that when she’d been forced to flee their original lab. All because some sniveling government couldn’t handle what needed to be done. She passed through the concrete passages, lit dimly, just enough for security cameras to function. When she entered the room, two armed guards stood over a man, who was on his knees. Bowing to her—perfect.

“Let him up.”

The man was pulled to his feet, and she walked forward. Grabbing his chin in her hand, she forced his head back. Just who did she have?

“Do you know who I am?” She traced her finger along his cheek. He was handsome, really, if you could look past the fatal flaws. At least the others had good taste. Perhaps she could find places for their men, once they were captured. It could be useful to refresh her army. Men with real training, not the complete idiots she was left with after the betrayal.

Cole jerked his head away, but his gaze held on to hers. He was defiant. But she would break him. She watched him, held his gaze so he would know who had the power here. Then she turned, walking to the door. She would be back later, when he was ready.

“Make him scream.”