[ Her face, already fairly flat in affect, goes somehow flatter. Held captive by someone else, experimented upon, used for awful things, free by his own hand - it's horrifying in its familiarity. Different details aren't enough to stay her sense of dread.
There's only one thing she can think to ask, in the silence after he finishes speaking: ]
no subject
There's only one thing she can think to ask, in the silence after he finishes speaking: ]
What was his name?