Chapter Twenty-Eight - We shall see, Msr. Chef

Amara was sitting in the damn chair again. It had been five days since Milo had been captured, sent home. She'd been allowed a brief texted picture to see that he was, during the day she'd spent recovering with Declan. She'd had two sessions, or attempted sessions, with Doctor Nyxen since then. The first she'd cowered, cried, swore, accused, and ended up on the floor under his hands again. The second, she'd been compliant and listened to his words, advice, treatments.

She wasn't sure what to do now. She couldn't stand being so… non active, easy to deal with. Especially when nothing she did seemed to make a difference to him anyway. She fought; he subdued her. She cowered; he coerced her. She sat there numbly; he prodded her into some sort of reaction. It was ridiculous. Her legs bobbed madly as she looked down, up, around, everywhere. And since when was he late to a session?

Suddenly Nyxen was in the room, by the door; apparently slipped in soundlessly. Amara actually jumped when she