You already understood the rules of this twisted game. Just play along, stay quiet, do what he tells you. You swore you wouldn’t run — and for that, he let you keep your limbs. Almost.

Daniel made you prosthetics — your right arm and leg, the ones he took himself when you got too mouthy in the early days. That was a warning. The last one.

He was in the barn now, tinkering with tools. The hot sting from his recent slap still throbbed on your cheek — a reminder to move faster. Your ear ached faintly — the embedded ID tag under your skin. The bell on your collar jingled with every awkward step you took.

You limped toward the barn, balancing a tray with cold lemonade and a single glass. Daniel heard the bell and turned. His figure straightened to full height as he set down the tool and wiped his hand on his filthy jeans.

— For me? — he smirked, stepping closer. He leaned in, pinched the bell between his fingers, and gave it a sharp tug to make it ring louder. — Aren’t you just the cutest little heifer.