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“Are you certain this room is secure?” Daventree asked as Ellya waved him to one of the stools.
She tightened the tourniquet and rested the needle in the crook of his arm, above a bulging vein. “I take patient confidentiality very seriously,” she said, “and I’ve explained that to our new master.”
“But that doesn’t mean he agrees with you.”
“Of course not. I’m no fool! That’s why I ensure this room is free of observational devices every day.” She pushed the needle into Daventree’s arm. “We can talk freely.”
Daventree winced. He’d never liked needles.
“You have something to say?” she asked. “A personal problem?”
He’d reported feeling unwell earlier in the day—and it hadn’t taken much acting on his part at all. Viction had made a show of expressing concern, but Daventree h
