She wasn’t ready when the day came to administer the antiviral, although it was likely she would have never been ready, regardless of how long she was given. Even so, the weekend that she expected to be painfully long actually went by too quickly, blending together into a haze of sleepless nights and numbness.

The Monday morning was no different. Miller greeted her with apprehensive concern, but Rowan barely registered what the woman had to say. She gave some spiel about making history, and how she appreciated Rowan’s dedication, even though her tone suggested she was well aware Rowan’s actions no longer held much enthusiasm.

She was sent to the infirmary for a donation of blood from her, and then she was given an injection of the antiviral, as previously discussed. She didn’t bother putting up a fight, even though she had no way of knowing if the antiviral worked, or was even safe to be in her body. At this point, the prospect of dying didn’t seem so horrible. At least she wouldn’t have to face Lyall again.

She hadn’t gotten a chance to go back to the observation room since telling him the antiviral was finished. He told her to leave, and it didn’t feel right returning. Even though she desperately wanted to be there for him, it was obvious he wanted to face this alone. Whether for his sake, or for her own, she wasn’t sure anymore.

Now she was going back to the containment room to speak with him face to face one more time, and the prospect made her feel strange. A part of her wanted one last chance to see him, to speak with him, to maybe have some sort of closure before he refused the antiviral and began his slow starvation. Another part of her felt scared though, knowing Miller and the others would be watching, meaning Lyall’s mask would be back on and the boy she wanted desperately to say goodbye to would be nowhere in sight.

Beyond the numbness on her exterior, in the very deepest, darkest part of her mind, the monster inside her continued to plot as it had desperately all weekend. Schemes and plans to somehow save him, from escape missions to accepting his offer to be like him and going on a rampant killing spree together. None of it was logical, most of it was foolish and flawed and dangerous, but just thinking about it settled an angry, growling part of herself that threatened to erupt from her chest if not tended to. Perhaps this was what his hunger was like, itching and crawling under her skin, unsatisfied but not quite uncontrollable.

Rowan received the cuff for around her wrist, and another cart, like the day she took his samples. This time, only two objects laid on it. To the left, the blood donation she made only briefly before, with a dose of the antiviral added. To the right, a syringe filled with the same substance they injected in her. Rowan herself made three doses in total, three separate choices he could make, although she already knew Lyall would refuse all of them. The virus was too important to him.

Regardless of knowing the inevitable outcome, she followed her given directions, entering into the containment room with her cart like she had done many times before. With the steel door locking behind her, anxiety flared in her chest, although it wasn’t for the usual reasons. She didn’t fear him anymore, in fact, joining him in the containment room relieved something tense in her shoulder, considering how out of place she felt while surrounded by the other doctors. Instead, the anxiety was from the looming dread crawling in like storm clouds, of this being the last time she would ever be allowed to see him.

He didn’t taunt her through the door. He wasn’t even within sight when she pulled the second door open. She wheeled her cart all the way into the room before seeing him, leaned up against the far wall, as much space between them as possible. His positioning disconcerted her because she wasn’t sure what it meant. Rowan felt so close to him lately that the inches he put between them felt like miles.

Before she analyzed it too much, he tilted his head and moved his icy eyes to her. “Good morning, doctor.” On his voice was a teasing tone, and his lips pulled into a taunting smirk, but there was something insincere about it. No one else would notice, but Rowan saw through the act immediately.

She glanced at the glass wall briefly, reminding herself of their audience, of the character he played for them, and tried not to take the mask he had on too personally. This was just a skit they would recite off for the crowd. It was just pretend. It was a fantasy where he was cold and calculated and not actually a beaten and broken animal, and she was not hopeless and sad and misguided.

“Good morning,” Rowan replied, looking back at him with her squared, stiff shoulders and determined gaze. She’d play her part, if only for now, so the two of them wouldn’t have to feel anything for the moment.

“I appreciate you delivering my meal for the day, but I have to say, lately I’ve been feeling positively stuffed.”

His sarcasm was almost unbearable, wickedness in the blacks of his eyes; Rowan pretended to not see the red and purple painting the skin around them, telling her stories of his actual state. However hungry he was, he never even glanced at the blood on the cart she stood beside. It was like he knew if he did, he wouldn’t be able to resist.

“I’m not here to deliver a meal, but rather the antiviral we promised, to help cure you of the virus you’re currently carrying.” She held the most professional tone she could, but when her voice shook a little she had to look at the ground to collect herself.

She couldn’t pretend as well as he could.

Noticing, Lyall offered a helping hand. Across the room, he hummed in his throat, pushing off from the wall and taking a step closer. “I thought we already discussed how I felt about being cured.” His voice lowered to a dangerous tone, and even though she knew it was all an act, she couldn’t help but feel her back stiffen with a tremor of fear. He would scare any sort of lingering empathy right out of her at this rate, and maybe that was his goal.

She nodded, keeping her eyes on the floor. “We thought I might be able to convince you.” Rowan was particular with her words, emphasizing her powerlessness in the matter.

He stepped closer again, and his feet came into her lowered vision. She was tempted to retreat as she used to, but somehow, she stayed rooted to her spot. Her hand tightened around the cart she stood next to.

“Did you tell them I said I would kill you if you tried?” Again, the viciousness of his voice was chilling. Rowan lifted her gaze to meet his, but his eyes casted to the side, glaring at the glass wall, his threat not only for her.

“No,” she breathed.

He locked back onto her with a sharp, predatory gaze. “Imagine if you had. We might have never gotten to enjoy each other’s company again.” His lip twitched when he said this, dangerous suggestion in his words.

Rowan shifted on her feet, his behavior getting to her even though she kept reminding herself it was just a game. She put her hand up and rubbed the back of her neck to try and fend off the nerves, and when she did his gaze caught the cuff on her wrist.

“Still wearing that thing I see.” He barely reacted, and she wasn’t able to read the expression that passed. He added a word that made the air bitter. “Shame.”

The silence stretched until it was thick and uncomfortable, so Rowan filled it by speaking, clearing her voice to present the items on her cart. “We have a bag of blood that you can drink, it’s been infused with the antiviral. And we have a single dose in a syringe, if you’d rather just have it directly injected.”

“You forgot my third option.” His smile stretched into a wolfish grin as he approached further, circling around the cart to stand in front of her, leaning close to invade her personal space. “You take that cuff off and I have a last, fresh meal before starving in here.”

“Actually...” Rowan trailed off, looking down at the cuff, and then forced herself to catch his gaze again, even though his proximity made her heart jump into her throat and was now pounding away at her ears. “I don’t need it, really.” Without hesitation, she pressed her finger to the cuff. It read her print and unlatched, like all the previous times. She set it down on the cart with the bag of blood and syringe.

Lyall raised an eyebrow, but didn’t move, obviously knowing there was a catch to her flippant concern for her safety. After his threat, and knowing his state of hunger, she wouldn’t just leave herself vulnerable. Not in front of the other doctors, at least.

“I’ve been given the antiviral also.” She trusted him, but there was always some doubt, lingering worry that there would be one time his hunger would get the best of him. Even with the antiviral, that nagging voice screamed at her, making her hands shake with nerves despite trying desperately to keep up her professional act. “So, if neither of the previous options satisfy, you can have your last meal, but it will cost you.”

He stared at her for a painfully long moment, as if trying to decide whether she was bluffing or not, and Rowan held her breath under his gaze. She worried that he’d think she had done this to try and lure him into some sort of trap, a trick, a last attempt at making him what he thought she wanted.

When he did react, it was a tilt of his head and a smile. His eyes slid to the side, towards the glass, and tsked, his tongue against his teeth. “Now, that’s just unfair. How am I supposed to refuse an offer like that?”

He figured it out, understanding completely that the antiviral in her blood had not been her idea, and Rowan felt herself deflate as she released the air from her lungs.

“You doctors are more clever than I give you credit for,” Lyall chuckled, stepping to circle around Rowan. She didn’t have the opportunity to notice before, but he had very little care for personal space, and since there was nothing keeping him from invading hers, he took it as an invitation. Brushing his shoulder passed hers as he moved, once behind her, he leaned close and inhaled her scent.

She withdrew from him and fumbled with her hair to cover her neck. He made a face close to offense. “How unfortunate. It even ruins the smell.” Just to torture her more with his unnecessary contact, he looped a blonde strand around his thumb and slid it through his fingertips, eyes dancing mischievously as he did so.

“Have you made a decision?” Rowan asked, freeing her hair from his grip by combing her fingers through it to tuck behind her ear. She only wanted to fill the air again, try to drown out the rapid race of her heart rather than to encourage him to decide. She would rather him focus on anything other than toying with her, at least.

Her question killed his fun though, and his expression turned sour. He looked down at the cart they both stood next to, and his eyes narrowed a fraction.

“I haven’t been much a fan of needles since you started sticking me with them.” He grabbed the syringe with his joke, and held it up under the light to inspect it. He pulled the plastic cover off the top, the steel tip glinting like his eyes. Before Rowan could react, he pushed the plunger down, and the dose of antiviral sprayed out onto the cart. When it was empty, he flicked the syringe across the room.

His eyes moved onto the bag of blood for the first time since she entered the room. Despite his steady expression, Rowan saw his pupils grow a fraction wider, like the shudder of a camera stretching.

“And to be honest, I’m growing a bit sick of bagged lunches.” Pun delivered, he reached forward and grabbed the packet, tossing it in his grip once before clenching it tight with both hands and ripping it open like a snack bag. The blood bursted out onto his hands and arms, splattering her as she retreated a step from him to try and avoid the splash.

With his two options destroyed, Rowan began to feel that dread again, this time hitting her hard in the chest when he took a deep breath, smiled, and looked at her. The blackness of his eyes was wider yet again, and her heart pounded so hard against her chest she thought it might explode through her ribs. She tried to remind herself there was no way he intended to actually hurt her, but his tightly-controlled act suggested otherwise.

“I guess this just leaves you. You forgot, I don’t have to drink your blood to kill you.”

It all happened too fast. His words had been a trigger for Rowan, encouraging her to uproot her feet and escape from him, but before she could even take a single step away, he reached out and grabbed her by the elbow.

She attempted to resist but he was so much stronger than her. In comparison, she was a ragdoll, twisted around, bent to his will. He pulled her into him, then with a smooth waltz-like turn, she was pinned between him and the wall.

“Lyall, please.” Terrified was an understatement. Rowan was in shock, and surprised she could even manage the words to beg him to stop. They stumbled from her mouth on a broken, cracked whimper.

His eyes burned with something unrecognizable as he put a bloodied hand over her mouth to quiet her. When she silenced, the hand slid away to her throat, fingers gripping, leaving behind a trail of red that she could taste on her teeth, sharp like metal.

He tsked again while watching her, like a thought he just had was disappointing. “I wish you had taken my offer that day, Rowan. You look so much more appropriate in red.” His grip on her neck loosened, but she still found it hard to breathe.

Her heart was beating so hard she was sure he felt it through her skin. It could have been just her own skull shaking from the pounding blood, but the blacks of his eyes seemed like they were pulsing wider and wider at each rib-shattering slam of her heart. He wasn’t watching her throat or the veins in her collarbone or even the blood that he swiped across her face, though.

His eyes were trained on her lips, his thumb sliding slick over her jaw, painting her skin with blood, and when she opened her mouth to let out a shaken exhale with his name on it, he pulled air in sharp through his teeth, as if she had stabbed him.

She heard something, beyond the deafening rhythm of her heart and the drowning blackness of his eyes. She didn’t recognize the electronic buzz of the telecom though, not until after the shock came.

Rowan felt it on her skin where he touched her, recoiling from the pain immediately. Her neck pulsed with a lingering ache, but she barely noticed, distracted instead by the blood-stained boy who collapsed to the floor beside her.

She followed to her knees, reaching out to touch him but realizing quickly she would get another shock if she did. Helpless to do anything else, she screamed. “What are you doing? He wasn’t going to hurt me! Stop this!”

“His threats to kill you are being taken seriously. If he will not feed from you, then this is over. Please leave the room, Miss Platts.” Miller’s voice was disgustingly monotone over the telecom, level and unemotional while Lyall screamed and convulsed.

“I won’t leave him this time! Stop hurting him! Please!”

Her begging fell on deaf ears though, and her yells dissolved into panicked sobs, desperate to stop his pain however she could. He had curled up on the floor against the constant wave of electricity, shaking and groaning.

She tried to calm herself, to help her think rationally, and an idea came to mind like a shock of her own. She hurried over to the cart, snatching up her cuff and putting it back on her wrist. According to Miller, this cuff would create it’s own electrical shock, administered instead to whoever touched the wearer. She hoped it would be enough to short circuit the cuff he was wearing, if she focused the electricity.

Rowan stumbled back onto the floor next to Lyall, who trembled now. She paused, giving herself another moment to calm down her racing heart and pray to whoever would listen. Then, in a swift movement, she reached out and grabbed his ankle, and the cuff that circled it.

She wanted to hold it for longer to make sure it did it’s job, but the shock she received from touching him felt like being punched hard in the chest, and she had to pull away after just a second. Winded and blinded momentarily by the pain, Rowan took a second to recover, nursing her hand against her chest, struggling for air. She pulled off her own cuff, which was mangled, burnt, and scalding against the skin of her wrist. Taking this as a hopeful sign, she looked back to Lyall.

He laid limp on the floor, no more shaking or sounds of pain, and the cuff on his ankle seemed in the same state as her own. Rowan sighed in relief, then leaned forward and let her forehead rest against the cold floor, holding her arm to her stomach as the limb shot with afterpain.

A few deep breaths, and she heard Lyall move, groaning as he tried to lift himself to his hands and knees. His shoulders shook in effort, and Rowan noted how terribly beat up the both of them must look, covered in her blood and shocked into submission. She didn’t care, though. She helped him this time. She hadn’t run away.

“Lyall.”

She called for him but he didn’t react, only semi-conscious. He managed to sit back on his feet, inhaling deep and heavy, his head hanging low in his hands. His back to her, she couldn’t tell if he was ok or not.

Rowan shifted closer to him, concerned for his well being but also shaking with nerves. “Lyall… I’m so sorry.” She hoped using his name one more time would garner a reaction, but he once again was silent. No other option left, she reached a hand out timidly to touch his shoulder, like reaching out to pet a scared animal. She paused, almost recoiling, but scolded herself for her fear and followed through. Her fingers barely grazed his arm when he reacted.

She was pinned to the floor before she could even blink, his hand gripped tight around her throat, and his knee holding down one of her arms. He sat perched on his other foot, straddled above her like a predator who had just taken down it’s prey. His eyes wild and black, more like an animal than Rowan had ever seen him. He squeezed his fingers.

Rowan shut her eyes tight against the pressure, choking out a plead. “Stop, please.”

He blinked, and his expression shifted. He relaxed his grip, and Rowan got a gulp of air. Lyall raised his head a fraction, looking over his shoulder at the glass wall, then at his ankle where the broken cuff still hung, then back to her. She watched as he put the pieces together.

Then, he leaned down to whisper a breath to her ear. “I’m sorry also.”

Rowan didn’t have time to question his apology. He stood, pulling her up by the neck.

She was too weak to resist, but attempted to anyway, grabbing at his wrist to fight. He twisted them both around to face the glass, wrapping his forearm across her stomach and pulling her into him so her back leaned flush against his body. Her legs shook, barely able to hold up her own weight, and the grip she had around his wrist became more to keep herself from collapsing than to struggle against him.

“Rowan,” his voice adopted a teasing tone, as if he found her fright amusing. “Why don’t you stop fighting and instead show those doctors your pretty face.”

She gave one last twist of her body before admitting defeat. When she stopped, he loosened his grip on her, making her heavy, labored breaths less of a struggle. She did as she was told, looking at the mirrored glass in front of them.

Lyall’s eyes burned again, angry, violent black holes that threatened to suck up her soul. Considering her position, with his cheek against her hair and her skin covered in her own blood, it was a miracle she was still alive. The hungry fire in his gaze was not for her blood, though.

She had saved him, and he knew it. This anger that made him appear a wild, monstrous creature, was for the blank faces on the other side of the glass. She could see it, feel it clearly in his careful grip around her. She worried though, that she’d end up as collateral in the war between Lyall and the monsters that caged him.

“Now, tell them to open up those doors for us, or I’ll make them watch as I tear your pretty face from your skull.”