A chill falls over me. “What’s plan B?”

She says nothing and clomps out the door.

When the door slides shut, I curl into a ball on my bed as best I can. I’ve hurt Betsy and that’s not okay. But my mind traces back over what she said. Plan B? Whatever it is, it can’t be good.

* * *

When the door to my room slides open the next morning, I have my apology ready for Betsy, but it isn’t her. It’s the short, pudgy doctor in the long white coat, the one who stabbed me with a needle my first day—Dr. Rayburn. He slips in the door, his eyes tracing my every move like I’m a rabid raccoon.

“Ahem. Good, uh, morning, Miss …” He looks down at my chart, realize there’s no name there and then blinks up at me. “Good morning. How are you, uh, feeling?”

I stare at him, this strange little man. His oversized lab coat trails down to the knees of his faded black pants. His hair is sticking up like he just woke. There’s a yellow stain on his sleeve. I remember the images I had in my head of what Breeders looked like—cloaked monsters with yellow eyes and sharp teeth. He doesn’t even look like an adult, let alone a monster.

He scratches at the pimply skin on his cheeks and then takes a wary step toward my bed. He squints up at the camera and then fumbles keys from his pocket. When he unlocks one cuff, his fingers tremble. Then he hands me the glass of juice from my bed tray.

I take the juice and grip it in my fist. “You’re not a doctor.”

He blinks at me bug-eyed. One of the burst pimples under his chin has dotted blood onto the color of his lab coat. “Yes, uh, I am. I’m Dr. Rayburn.”

I shake my head. “Where’s Betsy?”

Rayburn glances at his clipboard and then to the black dome of a camera in the corner. “Betsy chose, uh, not to see you this morning. It seems you’ve, uh, had a disagreement.”

I narrow my eyes. “I want to see her.”

He cringes at my tone, but continues. “You see, Miss … We never got your name.”

“No, you didn’t.”

He clears his throat and starts again. “Betsy is a …” He clears his throat again like there’s some phlegm lodged there. “A delicate girl. She’s never left this, uh, hospital.” He looks up at the camera. “Her choice, of course.”

“Of course, my ass,” I mumble.