“What’s to forgive? Here we are, and you’re about to give me everything I’ve ever wanted.” Ross steps toward the cage. The light catches the hollows in his face, and he suddenly looks ravenous.

Emma clenches her fingers. The feeling that she’s standing too close to a pair of jackals is overwhelming.

Simon prowls forward. “I don’t suppose you’d be satisfied with a small donation? I could stretch an arm outside the bars.… No, I don’t imagine. It’s been a long road to get here.”

“Long enough. But not without its pleasures along the way.”

“The letters were the most fun.”

“I would have to disagree. The treatments have been… extraordinary. I can’t tell you. The physical benefits are satisfying, but I wasn’t expecting the mental benefits—that’s been a real delight.”

“How fortunate.” A hint of dryness in Simon’s reply. “So what happens now? I imagine we need to move things along with the FBI banging around outside.”

“It’s fine. I locked them out via the control booth. The asylum’s old wiring is complicated—I think it’ll take them at least thirty minutes to find the circuit breakers. I’ve already dealt with the booth technician and the agent on the front desk, so we have some time. You know I don’t like to rush.”

Emma suspected the FBI had been held up somehow—they surely would have heard the gunshot—and the confirmation of it ping-pongs around inside her head. No FBI. No cavalry. Not yet.

Simon presses his hands together. “Of course. So you’ll bleed me, and then the others? Or maybe it should happen in reverse order.”

“I’ll take samples from the others, of course. That won’t take very long, and I wouldn’t want to waste them. You, I think I’ll… savor.”

Simon seems unfazed by the prospect of his imminent demise. “Excellent. Although before we start, I’d like some assurances about what will happen to my twin.”

“I’ll let her go once we’re done,” Ross says. “She’s seen my face, but she doesn’t know my real name. And I’ll be disappearing soon anyway—as you know, I have a place to stay where nobody will find me. Your sister poses no threat.”

In normal circumstances, Emma would roll her eyes.

“Well. That’s very kind.” Clearly, Simon doesn’t believe a word of it either. “My life for Kristin’s. That seems appropriate.”

“I like everything to be balanced.”

“Naturally.” Simon cants his head. “So how would you like to proceed?”

“I was thinking you could take the sheet off your bed and secure your ankles together with it.”

Simon grins in reply. To Emma’s shock, he begins to do exactly what Ross has suggested, whipping one of the sheets back and separating it from the plain ticking of his bed. He twists the sheet like he’s doing laundry. Then he sits on the bed with his bare feet together.

“Like this?” He winds the sheet carefully. “Or in a figure eight?”

“That’s fine.”

“Now what happens?” Simon’s level of enthusiasm for the process is entirely inappropriate.