The gynecological chair dominated the center of the room. Unlike the padded bench or the restraint chair from previous sessions, this was pure medical equipment—chrome arms, articulated stirrups, a hydraulic base that hummed when Dr. Marcus adjusted the height. The seat tilted back, positioning the occupant in a vulnerable recline, legs spread wide by the padded supports.

I stood in the doorway, Mr. Whiskers clutched against my chest, my body still carrying the weight of the week. Mr. Hops had stayed inside me. Every moment of every day, I'd felt him shift and settle, a constant presence that reminded me of my obedience. The plug had sealed him in place. I hadn't lost him again.