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exchange, only half in Jemma’s head. “Go to hell.”
    “Repeat.”
    Most days, they went through the short conversation at least ten times. Jemma rubbed at her temple, trying to ignore the throbbing that tended to build after prolonged exposure to her captors, the frustration at repeating the same script over and over with unchanging results.
    “Repeat.”
    “You know what?” Jemma sent at him while he frowned at the monitor. “I am done. I’ve got a headache, I’ve been good for weeks, and I’m just done.”
    “Repeat.”
    Jemma tried sending a surge of frustration, to him, to Naomi, to anyone, but since her first exchange with Naomi, she hadn’t been able to get anything through. Why had it worked that first time but not any others? She’d been more upset, then, scared, feeling like she could relate to the other woman. She shook her head, rubbing it in an exaggerated way, and Dr. Harris scowled. He typed into his keyboard and waited, smiling absently at Naomi, who let go of Jemma’s arm.
    Naomi’s guard entered, and the woman made a move to stand, but her guard shook her head, walking over to Jemma instead. The guard handed Jemma two pills, clearly marked with the name of an over-the-counter headache reliever. Jemma raised her eyebrows, and the guard retrieved a bottle of water from a large pocket, handing that to Jemma as well before giving both women smiles and leaving again, without a glance at Dr. Harris.
    Jemma filed that information away for future use and swallowed the pills, then nursed the water while waiting for further instruction from Dr. Harris.
    He looked at his clock, then typed. “We will give that a chance to kick in before we continue. Naomi, if you’d like to wait outside, you may.” Naomi nodded and left, and Dr. Harris turned his attention to Jemma. “This is the third time this week you’ve had too bad of a headache to continue. Are you exaggerating, or shall we send you for an examination?”
    Jemma blinked. This was the first time he’d asked her what she thought about something, even something as obvious as what was happening in her own body. She took the crayon and paper he offered, watching his face. She saw the emotions she’d come to associate with him, when he showed any at all: annoyance, frustration, some of the same boredom she felt herself. Under that, though, was something that made Jemma’s heart rate increase for a moment.
    Why would Dr. Harris be concerned about her?
    Real headaches , she wrote, pausing to decide whether she really wanted to be poked and prodded more than she already had been. A medical professional could turn out to be an ally. They could just as easily be another scientist who didn’t care, though. Distracting, hard to focus. Not extreme pain. She hesitated again, wondering what they would do if she collapsed, whether they would bring her to an emergency room or try to deal with it in-house. A false alarm would only work once. She would try to find out what happened in emergencies before she tried to create one herself.
    Her pause stretched out too long, and Dr. Harris peered at the paper before nodding. “You may relax until the medication takes effect.” He set down his clipboard, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes.
    Relax. Right. She could do that.
    Instead, she studied the lab again, the pain in her head lessening already now that nobody was making demands of her.
    Outside the window stood a guard, his back facing her. Inside the room was the chair she sat in, and a chair for each Naomi and either Dr. Harris or Josh. There was a table that the employees used for their equipment, under which Jemma knew there were granola bars. There was the monitor that was still attached to Jemma, and there was a tray of medical equipment used when they wanted a sample of Jemma’s blood.
    This seemed to be about twice a week, in fairly small amounts. Whatever they were looking for, they didn’t need much blood to do it. She didn’t care for