POISONED TRUST
JODY'S POV
The cursor blinked mockingly at me as I scrolled through Skylar's files, each document more horrifying than the last. Three hours had passed since discovering the backup drive, three hours of reading clinical assessments that reduced human beings to behavioral patterns and psychological vulnerabilities.
My own file was the thickest.
Subject 127 - Jody Marie Hopkins Recruitment Assessment: HIGH PRIORITY Vulnerability Index: 9.2/10 Primary Exploitable Factors: Financial desperation, intellectual validation needs, abandonment trauma Handler Assignment: Alexander Gallagher III Conditioning Protocol: Romantic Attachment with Academic Validation Projected Timeline: 6-8 months to complete psychological dependence End Goal: Placement in pharmaceutical research - chemical weapons development
The words blurred as my hands shook. Chemical weapons. They weren't just studying me—they were planning to turn my chemistry knowledge into something that could kill people. The boy I was falling in love with had been assigned to transform me into a weapon.
A soft knock interrupted my spiral into horror. I slammed the laptop shut and crept to the door, peering through the peephole. Alex stood in the hallway, looking around nervously, his usually perfect hair disheveled and his clothes rumpled like he hadn't slept.
"Jody? I know you're in there. We need to talk."
I pressed my back against the door, my heart hammering. Trust no one, Skylar's voice echoed from the video. But Alex had shown me the files about other missing students. He'd warned me about the Circle's protocols. Unless that was all part of his conditioning protocol too.
"Please." His voice cracked through the door. "I have a way to get you out of this. Tonight."
Against every instinct screaming warnings in my head, I opened the door. Alex stepped inside quickly, locking it behind him. Up close, he looked worse than I'd thought—dark circles under his eyes, a cut on his lip, and what looked like bruising along his jaw.
"What happened to your face?"
"Family meeting." He touched the bruise gingerly. "They're not happy with my progress."
"Your progress manipulating me, you mean?"
Alex flinched like I'd slapped him. "It's not like that. Not anymore."
"I read my file, Alex. All of it." I moved to the laptop, opening it to display the clinical assessment. "Romantic attachment with academic validation. Projected timeline six to eight months. Chemical weapons development."
His face went white as he read. "Jesus. I never saw the end goal section. They told me you were being groomed for pharmaceutical research."
"Does it matter? You were still assigned to psychologically condition me."
"Yes, it matters!" The words exploded out of him, desperate and raw. "Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I chose to be raised in a family that views human beings as assets to be acquired and deployed?"
He paced the small space like a caged animal, running his hands through his hair. "I've been trying to figure out how to get you away from them without getting us both killed."
"And I'm supposed to believe that?"
"My grandfather threatened to have you transferred to a more intensive facility if I don't show significant progress by tomorrow. That bruise on my jaw? That's from disagreeing with his methods." Alex stopped pacing and looked at me with something that might have been genuine desperation. "I have a contact in the FBI who's been investigating university-based psychological programs. If we can get you to her safely—"
"How convenient. The perfect handler has the perfect escape plan."
"Jody, please—"
My phone rang, cutting through his plea. Dr. Powell's name appeared on the screen, and we both froze.
"Don't answer it," Alex whispered.
But the ringing continued, insistent and somehow threatening. On the fifth ring, I swiped to accept.
"Hello, Jody. I hope you're feeling better after our conversation yesterday." Dr. Powell's voice was warm, concerned, and completely terrifying in its reasonableness.
"I'm fine, thank you."
"I'm afraid I have some concerns about your recent behavior. Missing classes, avoiding your assigned research project, and now I understand you've been asking questions about other students who've transferred."
My eyes met Alex's. He was listening intently, his face grim.
"I'm just worried about my friends."
"Of course you are. It shows a caring nature. However, this level of anxiety isn't healthy for someone in your situation. I'm going to need you to come in for an emergency session. Today."
"I really don't think—"
"I'm afraid it's not optional. Campus security is concerned about your mental state, given the sudden departure of your roommate and your subsequent... investigations."
The word investigations carried the weight of a threat. I glanced at Alex, who was shaking his head frantically.
"I can meet you tomorrow—"
"Now, Jody. My office in thirty minutes. And please, don't make this more difficult than it needs to be."
The line went dead, leaving me staring at the phone like it might explode.
"We're leaving. Right now." Alex was already moving toward the door.
"Where? If they can fake medical records and make students disappear, where exactly are we going to go?"
"I have a car. We can be three states away before they realize you're gone."
I wanted to believe him. Wanted to trust that the fear in his eyes was real, that his offer of escape was genuine rather than another layer of manipulation. But Skylar's voice kept echoing: Trust no one.
"What about the other students? Grace, Emma, Maria—all the ones in those files?"
"We'll come back for them. But right now, I need to keep you alive."
Thirty minutes. Dr. Powell expected me in his office in thirty minutes, and if I didn't show up, campus security would come looking. Alex offered escape, but escape felt like another trap, another carefully orchestrated move in a game where I couldn't see the board.
I made a decision that felt like jumping off a cliff.
"Okay. But we're taking Skylar's evidence with us."
Relief flooded Alex's face. "Thank you for trusting me."
"I don't trust you," I said quietly. "But I trust Dr. Powell even less."
We gathered essentials quickly—the backup drive, my chemistry notebooks, the surveillance photos, and enough clothes for a few days. Alex checked his watch obsessively, muttering about timing and routes.
"My car's in the faculty parking garage. We'll have to move fast once we leave this building."
As we prepared to leave, my phone buzzed with a text message. Unknown number:
Emergency session moved to your dormitory. Dr. Powell en route with campus medical team. For your own safety, please remain in your room.
"They're coming here." My voice came out as a whisper.
Alex swore under his breath and moved to the window, peering down at the courtyard below. "Two security vehicles. Medical van. They're not taking any chances."
Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway outside, along with the squeak of wheels that sounded like medical equipment. A soft knock came at the door, followed by Dr. Powell's concerned voice.
"Jody? I understand you're feeling overwhelmed. We're here to help."
Alex grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the window. "Fire escape. Now."
But as I reached for the window latch, the world tilted sideways. The room spun like a carnival ride, and my knees buckled. Alex caught me as I fell, his face swimming in and out of focus.
"What's happening?" The words came out slurred, distant.
"Jody, stay with me." Alex's voice sounded like it was coming through water.
The knocking at the door became more insistent. "Jody, we know you're in distress. Please open the door so we can provide appropriate medical care."
I tried to focus on Alex's face, but everything was spinning. "I feel sick."
"When did you eat last? What did you have?"
"Coffee... this morning... from the... dining hall..." Each word felt like pushing through quicksand.
Alex's expression shifted from concern to horror. "They drugged your food. The coffee, probably something tasteless, delayed reaction."
My legs gave out completely, and Alex lowered me to the floor as gently as he could. The room continued its nauseating spin, and I could hear Dr. Powell's voice growing more urgent outside the door.
"The sedative should be taking effect by now. Jody, you'll feel much better once we can provide proper medical attention."
Sedative. They'd been planning this all along. The emergency session, the concern about my mental state—it was all theater to justify drugging me and taking me somewhere I'd never return from.
"Alex..." I tried to grab his shirt, but my fingers wouldn't cooperate.
"I'm getting you out of here." But even through my drug-induced haze, I could hear the desperation in his voice. We were three stories up, I was losing consciousness, and Dr. Powell was about to break down the door.
The last thing I remembered before the darkness took me was the sound of splintering wood and Alex's voice, no longer warm or reassuring, but cold and clinical: "Subject is responding to the sedative as expected. Beginning transport to Facility 7."