“Hold her down."
The order was casual, like someone asking for a chair to be moved.
Two orderlies forced Elizabeth onto the metal table. The surface was so cold it felt wet. Leather straps cinched her wrists and ankles until her bones ached. The air stank of bleach and old sweat trapped in the seams of the room.
She tried to lift her head.
A gloved hand shoved it back.
“Please," she rasped. “I won't fight. I won't—"
“Too late," one orderly said, not even looking at her face. “Doctor signed off. You had an episode."
Episode.
That was the word they used for every hour she refused to smile. For every second she refused to say James Young's name with gratitude.
A nurse checked the machine. “Voltage ready."
Cold pads pressed against Elizabeth's temples. The gel was icy and sticky.
“I
