She knows she is treading on dangerous ground. She knows there are any number of things he could do to her without repercussions, because she would never be believed. She’s heard things, she’s seen bruises, and patients curled in on themselves in miserable fear.

“I could leave you in the sick ward, and say you snuck in there on your own. It would be just like you, going where you’re not wanted. I’ll wager even Dr. Harrington would think it would serve you right if you fell ill from your own foolishness and died. Or perhaps I should give you to Old Nettie?” At his voice, thick and sweet as treacle, Wendy goes cold. He leans in, like he really wants to know her opinion.

She knows the woman Jamieson means—not old, but her hair gray nonetheless, her arms wiry and threaded with scars caused by her own hands. It isn’t fear that curdles Wendy’s stomach but anger and heartache. Nettie is sick; she cannot help the way she lashes out against herself and others. She needs help, help Dr. Harrington cannot give, and Jamieson would use her as a weapon, set her off and turn her against other patients.

“Or maybe I should give her your little friend and make you watch.”

Loathing fills her, so pure it overwhelms her. Starlight bursts behind her eyes and her ears ring. Everything in Wendy longs to fight, to fall on Jamieson and scratch at his eyes, bite at his throat, but if she does, he’ll hurt Mary.

“Do whatever you want with me.” Wendy bows her head.

“What’s that? I didn’t hear you.”

“I said—” Wendy raises her voice, goaded despite herself, but before she can get the words out Jamieson strikes her hard across the mouth.

Her head snaps back and she tastes blood. Wendy glares, showing her teeth, showing them stained red. She understands now—she can’t be too docile, too beaten, not yet. He wants to see her fight, then he wants to see her broken.

He pulls her roughly toward the asylum door and drags her inside. Wendy resists just enough. Jamieson’s stiff shoes make echoing footsteps over the wooden floors and tiles. Passing the common rooms, heads lower, nurses and patients looking away and pretending not to see as Jamieson drags Wendy down the hall toward the treatment rooms.

She focuses on keeping her breath under control. She’s doing this for Mary. If Wendy can keep his attention on her, he’ll forget all about hurting Mary.