Hours passed.
The basement was quiet, save for the faint hum of the single overhead bulb.
I used the time to think.
Rationally.
Strategically.
Part of me—even Jake—was slightly afraid of myself.
Not the fear that comes from panic.
But the kind that comes from realizing how far your mind can stretch when survival is the only rule.
I traced every possible angle.
Every loophole.
Every weakness in the plan that had brought me here.
By the time the footsteps came again, I felt… calmer.
Not safe.
Not secure.
But calculated.
The door creaked open.
It was my father this time.
No mask, no theatrics.
Just him.
His eyes studied me like he was evaluating a project.
"Well?"
he asked smoothly.
I straightened slightly, though my wrists remained tied.
"I've decided,"
I said carefully.
His expression shifted. A small flash of surprise—or maybe curiosity.
"And?"
he prompted.
"I'll agree,"
I continued,
"under one condition."
He tilted his head slightly.
"And that is?"
"I want to speak to the doctor first. Alone."
My voice was steady. Controlled.
"I want to know every step of what will happen. Every procedure, every method, every consequence. Nothing hidden."
My father studied me for a long moment.
"Alone?"
he asked slowly, a trace of amusement in his voice.
"Yes,"
I said.
"No one else present. Just me and the doctor. I need to understand."
Gregory's voice echoed faintly from upstairs.
"Are you sure he'll agree to that?"
"I'll make him,"
my father said calmly. Then he turned to me, leaning slightly forward.
"Fine. You'll meet the doctor. Alone. But know this…"
He paused, letting the words hang.
"This isn't negotiation. This isn't a choice. You're agreeing to a process designed to… improve you. Delaying it will not save you."
I nodded slowly, letting the implication sink in.
"I understand,"
I said quietly.
"But I need to make an informed decision. I want clarity before committing."
He stared for a moment, then straightened and nodded.
"Very well. We will make an appointment. Soon."
The door creaked closed again.
Alone.
I leaned back in the chair, testing the ropes subtly.
They were still secure.
But my mind raced.
If they were willing to let me speak to the doctor alone…
that was an opportunity.
Time to gather information.
Time to observe.
Time to plan.
Jake Morrow didn't just survive because he ran.
He survived because he prepared.
And now… the next move was mine.