And then there she was. Sitting in an upholstered chair, her face turned towards the nearest window, looking out at the surrounding greenery and nearby trees. But she did not move, not even a tick, when Corday stepped nearer.

He knelt at her side, looking over her body for some sign of mistreatment or damage. There was no bruising or sign of neglect, but it was clear from the glassy faraway stare in her eyes she was highly sedated, and that alone was very telling.

Taking her hand, Corday called to her. Green eyes shifted so slowly it seemed unnatural.

“What have you done to her?” Corday growled to Dane, refusing to look away before Claire might recognize him.

“Miss O’Donnell is recovering from severe trauma under the best possible care,” Premier Dane replied, tone irritated.

Turning his head towards his old comrade, Corday leveled her with a disbelieving snarl, “She is drugged out of her mind. Afraid she was going to tell me something? What is going on here?”

The Beta’s voice had risen louder and Claire seemed to wake, if only for a moment. Her little fingers toyed with his ring and she whispered, “This was my mother’s.”

Corday forced the anger from his face and gave her an encouraging purr. “Yes, Claire, it was.”

“I gave it to Corday.”

“You did.” The Enforcer nodded.

It was as if she could not register the Beta in question was speaking, continuing as if talking to herself. “So he would not forget me. He saved Thólos.”

Lightly taking her chin between his forefinger and thumb, Corday lifted her face so she might find his eyes. “I am Corday, Claire. I am here. I came to visit you.”

The woman seemed as if she had no idea what was going on, leaning closer as if to share a secret. “I still hear him you know, purring in the room with me. Sometimes I feel him stroke my hair.”

Corday fought not to draw back in disgust, not to let his eyes widen even fractionally. In a gentle voice he explained, squeezing her hand as he smiled, “Shepherd is dead, Claire. You don’t have to be afraid of him anymore.”

“I want to go outside.”

It was the doctor lingering back by the door who spoke. “That can be arranged at once, Miss O’Donnell.”

It seemed a small army of nurses appeared from nowhere, and the woman, the inmate, was granted exactly what she asked for. The French doors overlooking the private lawn were unlocked, a small patio table and chairs exposed. Yet the strangeness of the prison was apparent to Corday, the thickness of the glass, the fact the exterior doors were made of dense metal and not wood, that they had been painted white to seem inviting and not vault-like, didn’t add up.