Red wet ropes snapped tight around Doc’s wrist. Her hand bent upward, and its fingers splayed in all directions. The syringe spun to the carpet. Doc’s mouth hung agape, her gaze locked on the constricting tentacles. No mouth emerged this time. It didn’t need to; Yaya heard the thrum in her head speak with her. She aimed the scissors at Doc’s hand.

Do it again, lose a finger. “Do it again, lose a finger.”

Doc nodded, and the ropes of flesh uncoiled from her wrist. She dropped the peanut butter jar and spoon on the floor and tucked both arms against her chest in retreat. Her face sank, all attention poured into her wrist.

Yaya let go of the scissors and grabbed the jar. Her spoon dug greedily. It was the crunchy breed of peanut butter, not her preference, but the voice went quiet after the first spoonful. Maybe instead of the tentacled monster, she was hearing her subconscious, no longer letting her ignore basic protein needs. Parts of her body clearly didn’t approve of how she’d been running my life. They had grown minds of their own, from brainstem to pelvis, so they could figure out a better path.

Hence grabbing Doc’s arm and stopping the syringe.

“I wouldn’t really do that,” Yaya said after the tenth spoonful. “Your finger

—I didn’t mean it.”

Doc didn’t look up, still rubbing her wrist. She was scared now. Yaya was scared, too, same as the voice in her head was scared. All that feared mixed together in a toxic brew would surely melt the flesh off this situation’s bones.

Yaya had felt the tentacle squeeze hard. She would have done the same with her hands had they not been distracted. “Dirty trick, Doc,” she said.

“If examining you meant just us, I wouldn’t have sent Aziz,” Doc said. Her voice rattled, a ship come loose from its harbor in the night. “And I would have been more understanding. You’re funny and beautiful, and it was a pleasure to

take you home last time. But my job is my responsibility. That examination wasn’t personal.”

“You made that pretty clear.” Yaya tapped spoon against scissors. “You were steel.”

Doc went on staring at her hand. The fingers bent as if holding her scissors.

“It was easier to pretend we’ve never met. Isn’t that how you do it? Cut and run the next morning?”

“What are they planning next?” Yaya asked. “Don’t lie.”

Doc drew in a long breath and let it out. “If I’m absent tomorrow, they’ll wonder why. They’ll call. They’ll send someone.”

Yaya spooned another helping of peanut butter. “But if I let you go, you’re responsible, right? You’re dutybound to help them. What then?”

“They’ll hunt you.” Doc cleared her throat and tried again. “We’ll hunt you.”

“And that’s what you call making my world a better place.”

The same sharp look in Doc’s eyes that had drawn Yaya in the first place now shot icicles down her spine. Doc really believed this. She didn’t need scissors when she was ABP’s scalpel. Steel, through and through.