Zoe POV

I don’t know where to look.

The woman across the room—Roanna, Chloe, whoever she is—makes that small sound again as Vark’s hand moves, and I watch her face while it happens, looking for something, any fragment of the person I’m trying to find underneath the performance, and what I see instead is a compliance so complete it sits wrong in my chest.

Chloe was never like this.

That’s the thing my mind keeps returning to, the argument it keeps ...