Sophia woke in a sweat.
She was lying on a bed, still dressed in her T-shirt and jeans. It was cold; her arms had goose bumps. The sour mix of body odor and dried algae hit her immediately.
She sat upright. Her surroundings were unfamiliar. The depth and width of the bedroom were somehow wrong, the light below the door was different, even the position of the door was strange. It took a moment for her to remember she wasn’t in her quarters at Desecheo Island, she was Adamicz’s prisoner.
The last few weeks had been a haze of what Adamicz called ‘deprogramming’, but she wasn’t so sure.
She’d been certain for a while that Adamicz was part of an extensive procedure to test her loyalty and sense of perception. That it was a new form of interrogation training. But the volume of documentation
