Dr. Linza Voss’s hands tremble as she locks the door behind her.     

The moment she’s clear of the observation room, the practiced smirk slides off her face like a mask made of glass. Her breath comes in short, unsteady gasps as she stumbles into an empty lab storage room. 

She slams the door shut, back pressed against it, before sliding down to the floor in a graceless heap. 

    Her journal is already in her hands.     

She flips to a fresh page, fingers shaking so badly the pen nearly slips. 

  “Subject K-9—Day 37. He rejected the name again. Violently. The lights flickered when he got angry. That’s new. That’s… bad.”   

Her handwriting is jagged, uneven. 

  “They keep making me provoke him. Every damn day. ‘He responds best to you,’ they say. Bull. He responds to me because I’m the one they’ve   forced   to be the villain here. The ice queen who taunts the monster. But I   hate   this.”   

She pauses, swallows hard. 

  “I thought he was going to break the restraints today. I swear, I felt the room   shake.   But of course, I had to stand there smiling like some cartoon supervillain because that’s what   they   want. I can’t flinch. I can’t show fear. Not even when—”   

Another pause. The pen digs into the paper hard enough to tear. 

  “What happens if one day, the restraints   don’t   hold? Will they even try to save me? Or am I just another disposable asset in this godforsaken experiment?”   

She slams the journal shut, pressing her forehead against the cover. 

    Outside, footsteps approach.     

    Dr. Voss inhales sharply—     

—and by the time the door opens, her face is calm. Polished.   Perfect.   

    Because that’s what survival looks like here.     

  And nobody can know she’s terrified.