“Good.” Mrs. Hall grabs hold of my chin and forces it left until I can’t see anything but Archer. “Now pay close attention,” she whispers as her husband pockets the lighter and smashes his knuckles against Archer’s face. Again. And again. “We decide when this stops. Not you.” Her grip on my chin tightens. “And once we’ve re-created our cure, we will decide how and when you die.”
