The air in the room, once thick with a heated, artificial passion, instantly turned frigid and clinical.
Seron didn't even look at Acacia as she knelt there, breathless and exposed. Instead, he stepped toward the glass, a cruel, mocking glint in his eyes as he gestured toward her discarded dignity.
"See, girls?" Seron's voice was conversational, almost educational, which made the words ten times more sinister.
"This is how it's done. Did you see how she bends? That's the kind of submission I expect. Now... who wants to go first?"
Silence stretched through the room, heavy and suffocating. Behind the glass, Adora and Nancy pressed further into the corners of the cell, their eyes wide with a terror that seemed to paralyze their very breathing.
The predatory edge in Seron's voice sharpened.
"Come on," he prompted, his hand straying toward a drawer where the Syndicate kept their 'compliance' kits.
"Do I need to drug you into submission, or are we going to do this the easy way?"
