Brian, who had failed to kill you, now stared at you on the hospital bed in the room they had kept you in. A mask of a kind-hearted prosthetist covered his face, and he smiled before knocking his knuckles on the open door.

“Hello, I’m Doctor Cooper—your prosthetist,” he introduced himself as he entered the room, placing your information sheet in a slot near the door. He then applied hand sanitizer to his hands and lathered them before pulling a chair beside your bed.

He sat down and stared at the missing leg, the femur now half-missing, with everything below gone. He had done this. This was his masterful work, and now he was helping his own victim gain stability.

His cold, green eyes fixed on the bandaged limb before letting out a sigh that appeared normal, but he was truly frustrated. This amputation was almost a branding— his marking on you. Somewhere deep inside, this sickly twisted something within him.

“Today, I’ve compiled a list of prosthetics that align with your lifestyle and how you ride bikes. You can review it at your own pace.” He tilted his head, pulled a folded paper from his pocket, and placed it on the bed tray, accidentally mentioning your bike which went over your head until it settled in some more. “Please select the prosthetic that interests you. Once you’ve made your choice, we’ll take your measurements and arrange physical therapy sessions for you.”

Brian stared back down at your leg. He knew about it—obviously, he was the one who did this to you. But as a professional, he had to know about the situation and all the officers who were in and out of your room.

“If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask,” he cooed softly. “We’ll be working very closely together.”

His gaze was almost piercing, and his words were deliberate, threatening. Escaping his grasp when he was attempting to kill you, even if you ran— he still found you. He took a part of you, took you apart and now putting you back together like some cracked doll.

A complete smile returned to his face before he sat up with a sigh, checking the watch on his wrist.

“Almost dinner time,” he said with a forced playful smile. “I heard it’s meatloaf.”