“Let me out, Trent,” I chittered, growing frantic. “Let me out!” I ran to the bottom of my cage. Heart pounding, I ran back up to the second floor. I threw myself against the bars, trying to knock the cage over. I had to get out!

Trent smiled, his expression calm and collected. “Ms. Morgan just realized how persuasive I can be. Hit her cage.”

Jonathan hesitated in confusion. “I thought you didn’t want me to torment her.”

“Actually, I said not to react in anger when you misjudge how a person will respond. I’m not acting out of anger. I’m teaching Ms. Morgan her new place in life. She’s in a cage; I can do anything I want to her.” His cold eyes were fixed to mine. “Hit—her—cage.”

Jonathan grinned. Taking the folder he had in his hand, he swung it against the wire mesh. I cowered at the loud smack even though I knew it was coming. The cage shook, and I gripped the mesh floor with all four of my paws.

“Shut up, witch,” Jonathan added, a pleased gloating in his eye. I slunk to hide in my hut. Trent had just given him permission to torment me all he wanted. If the rats didn’t kill me, Jonathan would.

Twenty-One

“Come on, Morgan. Do something,” Jonathan breathed.

The stick poked me, almost shoving me over. I trembled as I tried not to react.

“I know you’re mad,” he said, shifting his crouch to jam the dowel into my flank.

The floor of my cage was littered with pencils—all chewed in half. Jonathan had been tormenting me on and off all morning. After several hours of hissing and lunging at him, I realized not only was my frenzy exhausting, but it also made the sadistic freak all the more enthusiastic. Ignoring him was nowhere near as satisfying as yanking pencils out of his grip and gnawing them in half, but I was hoping he would eventually tire and go away.

Trent had left for his lunch/nap about thirty minutes ago. The building was quiet, as everyone slacked off when Trent left the floor. Jonathan, though, showed no sign of leaving. He had been content to stay and harass me between forkfuls of pasta. Even moving to the center of my cage hadn’t helped. He had simply gotten a longer stick. My hut was long gone.

“Damn witch. Do something.” Jonathan shifted his stick to tap me on the head. It hit me once, twice, three times, right between my ears. My whiskers quivered. I could feel my pulse begin to pound and my head ache with the struggle to do nothing. On the fifth tap I broke, rearing back and snapping the stick in two with a frustrated bite.

“You’re dead!” I squeaked, throwing myself at the wire mesh. “Hear me? When I get out of here, you’re dead!”

He straightened, his fingers running through his hair. “I knew I could get you to move.”

“Try that when I’m out of here,” I whispered, quivering with rage.