Page 14 of Glutton for Punishment

“Trust me,” he says. “I’ve had years to imagine what I’d do to Councilor Willshire’s spawn.”

His smile sharpens. “So don’t test me… unless you’d like to witness just how creative I can be.”

The locks click open one by one on my wrists.

Blaise hands me off as if transferring ownership. Doctor Plinth’s fingers close around my shoulders, and he steers me across the floor to a marked position. A thin circle is etched into the white surface.

“Remain within the circle,” Plinth continues, already walking away as he speaks. “You will wait until I count down from five. When I say begin, you will activate your Gluttony power and direct it at the target.”

He points at a blonde mannequin strapped to a chair fifteen feet in front of me.

A person-shaped thing meant to be consumed. The irony isn’t subtle.

“When I say stop,” Plinth says, “you will cease. You will stand in place with your hands behind your back and wait to be cuffed.”

He gestures toward the glass. “Your power cannot extend beyond the viewing room. Wards are in place. You are under constant observation, and you will have weapons trained on you.”

My skin prickles, awareness crawling up my spine.

He turns back to me, that same ugly sneer curling his mouth—one I’m suspecting isn’t an expression so much as a permanent feature.

“And no funny business.”

I panic a little. There may be a slight hum of power under my skin that came forward when he removed the cuffs, but it’s barely there. I don’t know how to call for this power and I definitely don’t know how to control it.

The doctor’s footsteps fade, and then his voice fills the room. “Counting down from five, Miss Davies.”

My pulse stutters.

Five.

I close my eyes and reach inward, past my fear, past the knot in my chest, searching to locate that familiar hum.

Nothing…

Four.

Digging deeper, I claw at the space where it should be. It has to be there. I felt it before—hot, hungry, undeniable. I try to summon it the way I’ve always summoned anger: by remembering every slight, every dismissal, every moment I was told I was nothing.

Three.

It slips away anyway. Like smoke through my fingers. Like trying to hold on to a dream the second you wake.

Two.

My breath turns shallow. Panic creeps in. Come on. Come on. I can’t let Atticus pay for this. I force my focus onto the target, onto the empty blonde face strapped to the chair, willing my power to surface.

One.

“And… begin.”

Holding my breath, I brace and wait for the violent rush to appear—

But nothing happens.

The silence drags out awkwardly.

“Stop,” Plinth snaps. “Hands behind your back.”