Chapter Text
There’s a painting next to the window behind Dr. Smith’s desk, all interlocking concentric circles in different shades of green and grey and blue like ripples in a pond. The frame is black wood, simple, unobtrusive.
“Sit,” Dr. Smith – she’s not calling him Nicky – says again. There’s a couch against one wall, like in every therapist’s office she’s ever seen on tv, but the chair he waves her to is pale yellow wood with red upholstery, fabric she knows is as just as coarse as it looks. Her middle school counselor’s office had almost the exact same chair – she spent a long time in that chair after her dad died.
She sits.
“Would you like anything to drink?” Dr. Smith asks, which she hadn’t expected. “Tea? Coffee?”
“I didn’t think I was gonna be allowed anything like that,” Nile says before she can stop herself, but she doesn’t regret it.
Dr. Smith just looks at her for a moment, then huffs out a laugh. “I suppose that’s understandable,” he says. He gets up anyway and crosses over to a little side table with a small kettle and two jars on top, one full of instant coffee and one full of teabags, turns the kettle on before turning back around. “Before we begin, how much has Dr. Kozak told you about this place?”
“Not much,” Nile admits. She looks at the painting again, wondering if it’s supposed to be soothing. Wouldn’t surprise her.
Dr. Smith glances back at her, smiling sympathetically. “I suspected. She is not always the most forthcoming. This is a treatment facility for soldiers with similar experiences to yours.”
Nile blinks. “Mine?”
“Near death injuries or highly traumatic injuries,” he clarifies. She swears she sees him briefly glance at her neck when he says that, but it’s so quick that maybe she imagines it, and he turns back to get out two mugs from the cupboard above the table. How much does he know?
“I’ve never heard of anything like this,” Nile says. If it’s a hospital, it looks a hell of a lot more like an office building than any she’s ever seen before. And if it’s a hospital, why hasn’t she seen any other patients?
“The program is still in development,” he says. “With luck, we will be able to implement it further soon. But your case was identified as particularly suitable, so you were brought here.”
“My case?” she asks.
“Yes,” he says. He puts a couple spoonfuls of the coffee into one of the mugs before pouring water over the top. “Tea or coffee?”
“Coffee, please,” she says. He nods and fills another mug, then carries them both back over to the desk. Hers is white with blue stripes.
“I was briefed on some of the general facts before you arrived,” Dr. Smith says, “but I would like to hear the details from you, if you are comfortable. It does not have to be today.”
That’s definitely not what Nile had expected, after the way Kozak had described it. “I thought you were supposed to be evaluating me.”
“I am. But I do not believe in rushing through treatment. There are questions I would like to ask you, but not until you are ready for them. So, for this session, I would just like to get to know you, if that’s okay?”
Nile relaxes, a little. She still doesn’t trust this place – or him – but at least they’re not grilling her straight away. She’s got time to work out what’s going on here.
“Sounds good,” she says. She takes a sip of the coffee – it’s better than she’d expected, but not great.
Dr. Smith smiles. “Good.” He leans back in his chair. “Where are you from?”
“Chicago,” Nile says, and thinking about it twists her gut. God, she misses home. And then, to keep herself from that train of thought for too long, “You?”
“Italy,” Dr. Smith says, which explains the accent, she thinks. “But I have not been back for many years.”
“You live here then?” Nile asks. “Germany?”
Dr. Smith shakes his head. “I was transferred here. Like you.”
“Why?” she asks reflexively, but Dr. Smith just shakes his head.
“Another time,” he says, which she takes to mean his willingness to answer her questions has run out. It’s frustrating, but not entirely unexpected.
Dr. Smith shifts in his seat, leaning back. “Tell me about Chicago.”
He seems genuinely curious, so she does. The session doesn’t exactly fly by, but it feels like Dr. Smith looks at the clock and says, “That will do for today,” a lot sooner than she’d expected.
“Before you go,” he adds as she’s standing to leave, “I know this is not an easy situation for you. So if there is anything I can do that will make you more comfortable here, let me know.”
Nile doesn’t even have to think about it. “I want to talk to my family,” she says. “They took my phone away.”
The smile he gives her is sympathetic, and slightly sad, and even if he’s been kind to her, she bristles. It tells her what his answer will be before he even speaks.
“I will see what I can do,” he says, which she knows means no. “It was lovely to meet you, Nile.”
“You too,” she says, and leaves the office.
“Have you ever had blood drawn before?” Dr. Kozak asks. Her office is a lot more like the doctor’s offices Nile’s used to: white walls, desk with a single uncomfortable-looking chair beside it as well as a bed with white paper towel draped over it, basin in one corner, cupboards labeled neatly. The only decoration on the walls is a single clock, the ticking of the second hand breaking up the quiet.
“Once or twice,” Nile says. Kozak’s eyes don’t leave the monitor in front of her.
“No previous underlying health conditions?”
Nile shakes her head. Kozak glances at her.
“Answer verbally, please,” she says, nodding towards the recorder on the desk. She’s surprised Dr. Smith hadn’t recorded their session at all - she’d have thought that would be the one they’d want to review later.
“No,” she says.
Kozak types something, then turns in her chair. “Very well. Take a seat on the bed, please.”
Nile does. Kozak doesn’t really look at her as she moves around the office, bringing a small blue tray over to the little stand beside the bed.
“Hold your arm out,” she says.
Nile’s not squeamish, but she can’t stand watching the needle as it goes in. Kozak wipes down the inside of her elbow with an alcohol wipe, and Nile looks away. It doesn’t really hurt , but it’s definitely noticeable.
“What is this for?” she asks, just to break the silence.
“Standard procedure,” Kozak says. “It is important for us to have some baseline data.”
For what? I’m fine, Nile wants to say, but she bites it back. She doesn’t think Kozak will be as willing to answer her questions.
After filling two vials, Kozak pulls the needle out and replaces it with a cotton ball. “Hold that.” She places the vials in the tray and writes something on the labels. “You have had all of the standard childhood vaccinations?”
“I think so,” Nile says, and then, “Don’t you have my record, or something?”
“I like to confirm for myself,” Kozak says. She writes something down on the notepad in front of her before rotating her chair to look at Nile. “I am going to take your blood pressure, height and weight, as well as a few other readings. The rest of the physical evaluation will take place over the next few days. In addition to this, we will be placing you on a course of nutritional supplements to ensure your wellbeing. You will take the first dose today.” From the cupboard below her desk, she pulls out a couple pill bottles, too quickly for Nile to get a good look at the labels. Kozak shakes one from each bottle into a little paper cup and passes them to Nile before filling a second cup with water.
“How often do I have to take them?” Nile asks, because it feels like the safest question to begin with.
“Once daily, during your appointments with me. We will evaluate their efficacy and change the dose or frequency accordingly.”
Nile looks into the cup. The pills are nondescript, small white discs with little lines bisecting them, no number or letter stamped on them. The bottles have disappeared back into Kozak’s cupboard.
Call it paranoia, but Nile doesn’t trust it. Carefully, she tips them into her mouth and holds them under her tongue while she swallows the water, trying to keep it as natural-looking as possible under Kozak’s hard-eyed stare. Nile’s performance must satisfy her, because she looks away after a moment and writes something else.
“Good,” she says. “I will take blood pressure next. Hold out your arm again, please.”
The rest of the evaluation goes fairly quickly, and Nile gets out as soon as she possibly can without seeming overeager, making her way down the hallway to her room and making a beeline for the bathroom. She spits out the pills in the sink and washes them away, then uses the little glass cup by the sink to rinse out her mouth. Whatever those things were, they tasted horrible.
Once she’s done, she closes her eyes and leans back enough to rest her head against the cool white tiles.
It’s so quiet. There’s none of the background noise she’d gotten so used to hearing in the camp, not even the sound of other people moving around. There’s nothing but her, and her breathing, and the faint humming of the strip light over her head, and the slow, steady drip of the tap.
Nile breathes.
They can’t keep her here forever, right? Eventually they’ll have to let her call home, if only because they must have told her family when she got hurt and her mom would be worried. Probably calling them non-stop until she found out where Nile was.
She can see it so, so clearly, and it makes something ache in her chest. Perhaps she was wrong, and Dr. Smith will persuade them to let her call. What she wouldn’t give.
Until she knows exactly what’s going on here, though, all she can do is wait.
That night, Nile dreams of stars. Thousands of them, more than she’s ever seen in her life, all pink and blue and green and orange and every other color she can name, bright enough that they almost hurt to look at. They soar above her, directionless, weaving in and out and between each other and leaving bright trails of colorful sparks in their wake. Whenever she tries to follow one she can’t quite seem to keep track of it for long. She’s flying, too, free of gravity’s hold, free as they are.
A loud knock startles her awake. Nile stumbles out of bed and just about manages to make it to the door to accept her breakfast - oatmeal, this morning - while the alarm chimes at her, still feeling like she’s floating. She doesn’t know how she slept through it; she’s never really been a heavy sleeper. When she blinks, stars wheel behind her eyelids.
The oatmeal is lukewarm and tastes like dust, but it brings her back to reality. She finishes it as quickly as she can, trying to eat without really tasting, and then makes her way into the bathroom and stands under the cold spray of the shower until the floaty feeling subsides. It takes a lot longer than she’d like, and by the time she gets out and gets dressed into a t-shirt and leggings that are the exact same as the ones she’d worn yesterday, and the exact same as every other pair they’ve given her, she’s late to see Dr. Smith.
She gets to Room 2 at 8:03, according to the clock on the wall. When she gets in, Dr. Smith is looking at something on his computer screen, brow furrowed. He looks worried.
Nile clears her throat.
Dr. Smith flinches before looking up and catching sight of her. His shoulders relax.
“Nile,” he says. “How are you?”
“Tired,” Nile admits before she can think about it too much. “You?”
Dr. Smith rubs a hand over his face. “Tired also,” he says. “But it is early. Would you like coffee?” He’s already standing up as he says it, so Nile just nods. The mug he fills for her is the same as yesterday’s, white with blue stripes. She cups it in both hands, hoping the warmth will keep her somewhat grounded. The shower had helped, but she still feels shaken.
Dr. Smith is watching her. “You seem unsettled,” he says.
“It’s nothing,” she says. “Just had a weird dream.”
Dr. Smith hums, but he doesn’t push. He takes a sip of his coffee, then pauses and looks at the cup, looking so disappointed Nile almost laughs.
“Not good?” she asks.
“I did not buy it, so I did not get to choose it,” he says. “But I will make do.”
“Could be a lot worse,” Nile offers.
“Yes, I suppose so.” He takes another sip, then sets the mug down and sits forward. “I would like to begin today by talking about the other people in your unit, if you are comfortable.”
“Uh. Sure,” Nile says. “There were 4 of us in my team. I was the leader, and then there was Dizzy and Jay and Kira.” All it takes is saying their names and Nile’s back there, Dizzy staring her down in the tent, Nile’s bag already packed on her bunk. Jay at the runway, waving with a sad smile as if she knew Nile wasn’t gonna be back for a while. Kira hadn’t been there when it happened, but Dizzy must’ve told her something, because Nile had barely seen her after she woke up.
“Your friends?” Dr. Smith asks. It takes Nile a moment to process the question.
“Yeah,” she says. “Kira was a transfer, but Dizzy and Jay and me went through training together. We had each other’s back, you know? We were like family.”
They were gonna do a road trip, when they had enough leave. Pile together in Dizzy’s shitty little car and drive across the whole country, from Dizzy’s hometown to Jay’s to Nile’s, see where each other grew up.
Who knows if she’ll see them again?
“It is a special kind of bond,” Dr. Smith says. “I had friends like that, during my time.”
Nile blinks. “You served?”
Dr. Smith shrugs. “A long time ago. But that is a story for another time.”
Nile wants to push - he can’t be that old - but she doesn’t. Instead, she says, “They were with me when it happened.”
“Ah.” Dr. Smith’s expression is sympathetic. “That can be difficult.”
Nile wants to laugh. Difficult is one word for it. It’s easier to look at the painting behind him, so that’s what she focuses on, trying to count the different shades of green.
“Jay wasn’t in the room,” Nile begins. “I think she went to get the medic, I don’t know. That’s where it starts to get fuzzy. But Dizzy was, and she–” Her throat closes. All she can see is Dizzy’s face, begging her to stay awake, to stay alive, and it turns her stomach. She reaches up to touch her throat where the knife had cut, just to reassure herself that the wound is gone.
“It is not easy to watch someone come that close to death,” Dr. Smith says unbearably gently. “I imagine it rattled her.”
“She could barely look at me after I came to,” Nile says. She hates how shaky her voice sounds, how close she sounds to tears. “She packed my bag for me like she couldn’t wait to get rid of me. Like I should have died there, and she’d rather I did.” The last part is barely a whisper, but she’s not going to cry. Not here, not in this place.
“Nile,” Dr. Smith says, still gentle but firm, too. “Take a moment.”
Nile takes a long sip of her coffee and still doesn’t look at him. If she stares at them for long enough, the circles in the painting could be moving.
“I think it is unlikely that that is what she was feeling,” he says. “But it is not every day that you see a friend almost die. She was dealing with it in her own way.”
“She packed my bag,” Nile repeats.
Dr. Smith has nothing to say to that.
Who knows when she’ll get to talk to Dizzy again? They won’t even let her talk to her family.
“You ask if they’re gonna let me have my phone back?” Nile says, more to change the subject than because she really thinks he has.
Sure enough, the doctor only gives her a small smile, apologetic. “I did what I could, but I can only advise. It is up to Dr. Kozak, in the end.”
It’s a kind way to say no, but still a no. Nile sits back in her chair.
“Would you like to tell me about them?” Dr. Smith asks. “Your family?”
Not here, and not like this, and not to him. She’s not letting them have that. Nile shakes her head firmly.
Again, Dr. Smith doesn’t push. “Let’s move on, then,” he says, and they do.
The days start to bleed into each other after a while. It’s easy to lose track of time when she doesn’t have an easy way to see what day it is, and apart from the weekends, when she doesn’t have to see Smith or Kozak, no way for her to work it out. She spends that time in the library or the gym, mostly to keep herself occupied. On weekdays, she still has the two evaluations per day, though with Dr. Smith it becomes more of a chance to talk about anything and everything, and with Dr. Kozak it becomes more like monitoring. Sometimes she has Nile in the gym, hooked up to various different machines while she uses the treadmill or the exercise bike or the weights. It’s better than sitting in her office, at least.
She still offers Nile the vitamins, and Nile still spits them out every time. If Kozak suspects anything, she never mentions it.
At the end of every session she has with Dr. Smith, she asks if he’s managed to persuade them to let her call home, and every time his answer is the same. But she doesn’t stop.
The whole time, in this facility designed to house at least ten people, she never sees another patient. Kozak talks sometimes like there are others, mentions Nile’s results being similar or different to theirs under her breath like Nile wasn’t supposed to overhear, but that’s the only indication Nile ever gets that there are supposed to be other patients.
And at night, she still dreams of stars. Sometimes of darkness, sometimes of a tiny room, sometimes of an operating table in a cold white lab, sometimes even of bleeding out in the dirt, but always, always of stars. They leave her shaken, unsettled.
About two weeks after she’s brought to the facility, Nile shows up at Dr. Smith’s office to find the door ajar. She’s about to go in when she hears someone talking inside.
“She’s not a viable candidate for Orbiter,” Dr. Smith is saying. “The circumstances are different. We can barely keep Subject 3 stable, let alone manage another one.”
“Subject 3 took time–” It’s Kozak’s voice.
“That was different,” Dr. Smith insists. “This will take delicacy. The same approach will be too risky.”
“Orbiter has potential for expansion, you know that. I believe the different circumstances would be a strength, not a weakness.”
There’s a beat, and then – “We can discuss this later,” Dr. Smith says, “with the others. She’ll be here soon.”
Nile takes that as her cue to lean against the opposite wall and look like she hadn’t been listening to their conversation, and when Kozak leaves she doesn’t seem to notice Nile’s there at all. Nile waits for a beat, then goes in.
Dr. Smith is leaning back in his chair this morning, eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t seem to have noticed Nile at all. She clears her throat.
Dr. Smith startles, then relaxes when he catches sight of her. “Good morning, Nile. Shall we get started?”
It’s the same as every other day after that: Dr. Smith makes coffee for her, and tea for himself, they make the same small talk they always make, how are you feeling, did you sleep well, the weather is nice, yes, yes. Finally, once they both have mugs in hand, and Dr. Smith seems satisfied, he sits down in the chair across from her and says, “If you feel you are ready, I would like to talk about it today.”
There’s no need for him to specify what it is; the word alone makes Nile’s heart drop. She barely knows herself what happened. The echoes of it in her dreams are bad enough.
“Nile,” Dr. Smith says.
Nile blinks and realises how tightly she’s holding onto the chair. She forces herself to relax, muscle by muscle.
“If you are not ready,” Dr. Smith says, “we will talk about something else and forget it.”
When is she ever going to be ready? She takes a deep breath and nods.
“Okay,” Dr. Smith says. “What happened that day?”
“I don’t know,” Nile says honestly. “We were looking for someone, and my team and I found them in one of the houses. I went in first, and… I wasn’t even thinking, you know? We spent thousands of hours in training. I shot him.”
If she closes her eyes she can see him, gasping for air, the wounds in his chest bleeding too fast for her to have a hope of staunching the flow. She never saw him die, but he must be dead now. They never trained them how to live with it.
Nile swallows. “We were supposed to bring him in alive, so. I tried to save him, and that’s when he pulled the knife on me. That’s where it gets fuzzy. I woke up in the hospital tent after that.”
“The injury?” Dr. Smith asks, careful.
Again, she looks at the painting instead of at him. “My throat,” she says. She can’t manage much more than that. “It should have killed me. I don’t know why it didn’t.”
That’s what she still doesn’t understand. Between her throat getting cut and waking up in the hospital something happened, something that made Dizzy pull away from her almost entirely and left her without a single scar to show for it. And she wouldn’t be surprised if something about that is what brought her here, too.
“It is isolating,” Dr. Smith says, “that kind of experience. You become separated from everyone else in a way they cannot understand, and you cannot quite understand it either.”
Nile blinks. For a moment, she can only look at him. “You…?”
“I was gutted,” he says mildly, like he’s talking about the weather. “I woke up when I should not have, either. When it happened, I left the military and retrained, and now I am here.”
“You ever figure out what happened?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “Some of it. Some of it I still don’t know. But trying to work through it helped me get past it, I think.”
“Easier said than done,” Nile says, half-jokingly.
“Perhaps,” Dr. Smith says. “But not impossible, given enough time.”
Dr. Kozak is drawing blood again. There can’t be much more information she can possibly get from it, but every time Nile asks she gets a non-answer, so she’s given up asking. Just stares at the clock while she waits.
When she finishes, tugging the needle out with a brief twinge of pain, Kozak seals the vial and places it into the plastic tray on the desk. Then she says, “We have noticed your results are inconclusive with the medication administered.”
It takes a lot of effort for Nile to keep her face neutral. “What do you mean?” she asks, careful to keep her voice steady.
“The nutritional supplements,” Kozak says. “Dr. Smith has informed us that you have had difficulty sleeping, among other issues. We would like to try administering the medication in a different form today.”
The mention of Dr. Smith feels almost like a betrayal, even though she knows in the abstract it’s been his job this entire time to report back to Kozak. But in the past couple weeks, she’d almost forgotten.
From the tray on the desk, Kozak takes out a vial of clear liquid and a syringe with a thin needle. “Hold out your arm,” she says.
Nile’s trapped. If she refuses, it’ll break the illusion of compliance she’s managed to maintain until now, though by the way Kozak is looking at her she’s seen straight through it anyway. If she agrees, who knows what the hell they’re trying to give her? She has no reason to trust Kozak.
Who the hell can she go to, anyway, if they won’t let her talk to her family? If Dr. Smith has been reporting to Kozak this entire time, who’s to say he’ll be able to help her, or even want to?
“Miss Freeman,” Kozak says, and Nile bristles. But what can she do?
Nile holds out her arm.
The needle stings like hell going in, a horrible dull pain she’s never quite gotten used to, but at least it’s over quickly. Kozak discards the needle and pulls off the latex gloves she’d been wearing before scribbling something on the pad of paper in front of her.
“You may go,” Kozak says. “If you experience any adverse effects, let a member of staff know, and they will notify me.”
Nile nods. She stands and feels mostly steady on her feet. Kozak doesn’t look at her.
Nile leaves the room. The moment the door closes behind her she blinks and her legs feel shaky. Her vision starts to go fuzzy at the edges. When she closes her eyes all she can see is the stars from her dreams, now so close she could touch them if she reached out. She blinks again and opens her eyes and they’re still there, dancing at the edges of her vision.
She takes one step and her heart feels like it’s going to burst. Her throat feels like sandpaper. She braces herself with a hand against the wall. Is this what Kozak meant by adverse effects?
Shit, is she having a heart attack?
She doesn’t really think about what she’s doing, only that she’s not going to Kozak like this, doctor or not, and that even if she doesn’t trust Dr. Smith at the very least she hopes he’ll be able to help.
What other choice does she have?
She gets halfway down the corridor and it makes her head spin. The stars are so bright she can’t see anything. She manages to knock on the door before she has to lean back against the wall because her legs can’t hold her up anymore.
Dr. Smith opens the door a few seconds later. When he catches sight of her his expression moves from concern, to anger, and back to concern.
“Nile,” he says, sounding like his voice is coming from underwater, "is everything all right?" He has to reach out to steady her when she pushes off the wall and the movement makes her head spin so badly that the darkness and the stars cover everything.
Then she's gone.
“–what you think you’re doing,” someone’s saying. “I told you she wasn’t a viable candidate for Orbiter. Do you have any idea–”
“I am doing my job,” the other voice says calmly. “You have not been doing yours. Or should I remind you that you were meant to assess compliance, which you have not done. I had to take my own steps to make sure we aren’t just wasting time and money here.”
“Just because you got impatient–”
“Careful,” the second voice says, quiet and dangerous. “After what happened with Subject 3 we would have more than enough reason to reassess your position on the project.”
Nile breathes.
Her head’s killing her, and her throat still feels like sandpaper, but when she opens her eyes her vision is blessedly clear.
Both voices have fallen silent. Nile blinks, and catches sight of the painting on the back wall. The circles almost look like they’re moving, flowing inwards.
She’s in Dr. Smith’s office, then. Lying awkwardly on the couch she’s never actually sat on before.
“Nile,” Dr. Smith says. “How are you feeling?”
He’s hovering just at the edge of her vision, Kozak beside him, looking at Nile with detached curiosity, and that’s when it all comes flooding back.
What the hell did Kozak inject her with?
“It appears you had an adverse reaction to the medication,” Kozak says. “Likely an allergy we were not aware of. We will need to run some more tests to determine the cause.”
Nile doesn’t manage to contain her reaction this time. “Bullshit,” she snaps. She’s not letting them run any more tests.
Kozak looks like she’s about to say something, but Dr. Smith stops her. “Later, please,” he says. “Leave us for now.”
Kozak doesn’t argue, which is surprising. Just leaves the room. The click of the door closing behind her is deafening in the sudden silence.
“What happened?” Nile asks.
“You fainted,” Dr. Smith says. “You were unconscious for maybe a minute. Like Kozak says–”
“That’s bullshit,” Nile insists. “That has to be bullshit. She said it was vitamin supplements. What the fuck did she give me?”
Dr. Smith closes his eyes and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Then he says, “There are often other ingredients in medication like that that can cause adverse reactions.”
Nile sits up fully, her head spinning slightly with the movement. Dr. Smith doesn’t look at her.
He can’t be serious. “You can’t expect me to believe that,” she says.
Dr. Smith opens his eyes. He glances over at the painting for a moment, then pulls out the chair she usually sits on and drags it over to sit down opposite her.
“What were you talking about before?” Nile says, changing subject. If she catches him off-guard, “Orbiter?”
“Orbiter is another project Kozak and I have been working on,” Dr. Smith answers. “But it has nothing to do with you.”
It’s a blatant lie, and it stings. She doesn’t say anything, but she lets it show on her face exactly how far she believes him on that front.
“There are things I cannot easily explain to you, Nile,” he says. “People who have been in situations like ours tend to struggle with paranoia. It is natural.”
“I’m not paranoid ,” Nile snaps. She can’t stand the tone he’s using, gentle like she’s a nervous animal.
“There is only so far I can help,” Dr. Smith continues, and this time he glances over at the painting again, slowly, and back at her, his eyes widening ever so slightly. “But I am here to help you, whether you believe that or not.” He reaches over for something on the desk, a folded sheaf of papers and a pen, and offers it to her. “If you can, look through these this evening. They may help. And if you need anything, I will be here until late.”
She doesn’t take the papers. But he looks at her meaningfully and presses them into her hands.
“If you do not find them helpful, fine,” he says. “But at least look at them.” He taps the back of the sheaf. “I cannot help you with everything, but at the very least I can try to give you the tools to help yourself.”
That – there’s something in that, something she doesn’t quite understand. She takes the papers, and feels something small tucked inside. When she meets his eyes, he just smiles sympathetically.
“Try to get some rest,” he says.
All Nile can do is nod.
They don’t talk about much after that. Dr. Smith makes her tea with honey that soothes the ache in her throat, even though she hadn’t said anything about it, and when she feels steady enough to stand she leaves his office and heads for her room.
The second she’s behind a closed door she opens the sheaf of papers. Two things fall out; a small plastic card, and a car key.
The card she turns over. On the other side is printed DR NICHOLAS SMITH in small black letters, next to a photo of Dr. Smith taken in front of a white background. She’s seen this card before; Kozak has one, too.
Kozak has one, which she had used to open all of the doors when she’d brought Nile here. And a car key.
Why would he give her these? He definitely knew they were in there – he was trying to give them to her.
He also told her he’d be working late. If she times it right, she can get out before anyone realises she’s using his ID.
For the first time in two weeks, Nile sees a way out. Quickly, she tucks the key and the card under her pillow. She can’t go yet; but if she goes late, when people start leaving, she might be able to get out.
Then she catches sight of the other side of the paper. There’s an address written in black ink, and then, I know you have little reason to trust me, but at the very least, I can help you get to safety.
There can only be one person who wrote it, and Nile doesn’t know what to make of it. If he had wanted to help her so badly, why wait until now?
But there is one thing she is sure of, and that’s that she’s not waiting around to see what Kozak had meant by additional tests. If she’s going to have a chance of getting out of this place, she needs to go tonight.