A few days after Asher came to me alone, I hear footsteps approach my cell.

          “Hey, Shortstack—” I begin, raising my head, but I falter. There are only two guards outside my cell. Asher isn’t there. I frown at the guards as they unlock and enter my cell.

          They’re rough as they yank my arms behind my back to zip tie them. I wince at the motion.

           “Where’s Shortstack?” I ask.

          “Shut up,” one guard says gruffly, pushing me toward the door. I almost trip over my own feet. They’re never this rough when Asher is around. One guard shoves me down the hallway toward the lab.

          “You compensating for something, there?” I snap, turning to glare at the guard. In response, he slams me back against the wall, almost tearing my shoulders from their sockets as my back strikes the window. My heart freezes as the guard presses an armored forearm against my throat. I’m tall, six foot four, but the guard is big and muscled, and makes my windpipe ache.

          “You’re a cocky son of a bitch,” the guard growls. “Think you can do whatever you want here? You can’t. Shut your damn mouth.” He shoves his arm against my throat before releasing me. I cough violently. My throat feels tenderized. The guards don’t wait for me to catch my breath before they push me along the hallway.

           I don’t speak again as the lab coats hook me up to the EEG like usual. I think if I did, my voice would scratch like rough stone. I feel the prick of a needle and watch as a lab coat draws a vial of my blood. I hardly move the piece of metal they put in front of me; I’m too caught up in my own thoughts.

          The lab coats don’t hurt me, and besides today, neither do the guards. Asher is kind to me. She throws “Sasquatch” right back at me when I call her “Shortstack” with a smirk and the quirk of an eyebrow. She smiles at me, talks to me like I’m a human being, flirts with me. But it strikes me that it’s not real; she’s not a friend. She is my warden. And as comfortable as I’ve gotten in my routine here at Null Enterprises, it is my prison.

                                                                   *

          I don’t see Asher for another few days. My tally count on my desk has reached three hundred and sixty-five now.

          “Mr. Brady,” a smooth voice says. “You look well.” I look up. Outside my cell, Asher stands by a tall man in a crisp suit. His light hair is smoothed back, shot through with gray at his temples. He has a tilted sneer on his face, his hands in his pockets.

          “I’d return the pleasantries, but I don’t know who you are,” I say, standing from my desk and walking to the glass where the man stands, where almost a week ago Asher slid me a metal cup.

          The man in the suit smiles; there’s a coldness behind it that makes me back away a step. “My name is Marcus Null,” he says. “I’m the head of this company.”

          “What do you want with me?” I ask, wary. I try to catch Asher’s eyes, but her gaze is downcast.

          “My daughter tells me you have great potential,” he says, still wearing the smile of a snake. I blink in surprise, and Asher shifts uncomfortably.

          “Your… daughter?” I stammer. I stare at Shortstack. “What did she tell you?” I ask.

          “Your ability could prove to be very useful,” he says. “We haven’t seen a case like yours before.” My eyes shift from Asher to him.

          “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “What kind of useful?”

          Marcus looks satisfied. He laces his fingers together in front of him. “You can manipulate metal, yes?”

          “Sometimes.”

          “You’d be able to stop bullets. Level buildings. You’d make an exceptional weapon,” he says. Asher lifts her head, looking baffled at her father.

          I shake my head. “Not interested.” I start to turn away from him, but stop when I realize I have nowhere to go in my small cell.

          Marcus just sighs like he’s been mildly inconvenienced. “You’re convinced you have much of a choice,” he says. “No matter. You’ll come around.” I’m about to tell him to shove it up his ass, but the words get stuck in my throat. He pivots on one shiny shoe and begins to walk away, unruffled.

          Asher stays behind, staring after her father, then turns her dark brown eyes on me.