Her chest tightened as she thought about those rooms underground where Crowther had taken her so many times now. The blood. The burns, the flayed body parts, tangled nerves, split open and twisted apart in horrible, terrifying ways. Helena’s name was beside Crowther’s in those prisoner logs. Her handwriting cataloguing in clinical terms the injuries she’d healed, the condition of the prisoners when they died or were placed into those horrible underground cells. She knew it was intentional on Crowther’s part, having her listed as the medical personnel on-site. Leverage.
