Open your eyes

Consciousness returns in slow, syrupy layers. I rock limply back and forth as the carriage swerves around a corner.

Carriage? I open one eye.

The air smells faintly of ozone and lilac. I’m sitting upright, my wrists lightly bound in front of me with soft laminate cuffs that glow a gentle, mocking pink. The Truant Suit has been replaced by something smoother, heavier: a second-skin layer of midnight-purple latex that covers me from toes to throat, seamless except for a high, posture-forcing collar and an oval cut-out that leaves my face bare. My hair has been twisted into an elegant, inescapable top-knot that tugs whenever the carriage rocks.

Across from me, knees almost touching mine, sits the woman who sold me the fake resident chit three months ago.

Deyan.

“How?” My eyes widen in confusion.

“Deyan!” The name comes out hoarse, cracked with hope. “You came to save me! But how? How did you pull this off?”

Her smile widens, but her lips stay pressed shut.

“It’s not that simple, princess. We don’t have long.” She almost spits the word princess, nothing like the friendly energy she had when we met.

The carriage rocks again. Through the enormous window I glimpse turquoise Ministry spires sliding past. We’re circling the prison. My stomach drops like a stone.

Deyan leans in until her breath warms the latex over my cheek.

“Listen carefully. Right now, every record on Torei lists you as Etleena Avnos: thief, traitor, off-world smuggler of some very special prototype laminate. The real Etleena has been conveniently off-planet for weeks. By the time anyone thinks to check DNA, the Improvements will already be bonded. No one will believe a glossy, obedient doll when she claims to be the Ambassador of Aetheria’s daughter. They’ll assume the neural lace made her delusional. Your father will disavow you to save face. Aetheria will disavow him. And you—” she traces one finger along the seamless casing between my legs, where the edging core still pulses, slow and patient, “—will spend the rest of my very long, very useful life as state property.”

My throat works soundlessly. The phallus gives a deliberate swell, as if to underline her words.

“But I know who you really are,” Deyan continues, voice velvet-soft. “And my employers are willing to help you. You walk out of processing before your auction begins.”

Hope flares, bright and treacherous. “What do you want?”

“Nothing dramatic.” She produces a tiny holo-chip between two fingers. “Plug this into your father’s private terminal. It uploads a harmless diplomatic packet. We want to send a message. After that, you’re extracted. Clean and free. Sort of.”

The carriage lurches; my collar yanks me back against the padded restraints I hadn’t noticed before.

I swallow. “If I refuse?”

Deyan’s expression turns almost pitying. “Then you stay Etleena Avnos, as far as anyone else knows. Seven to fifteen years mandatory ownership, minimum. Full retraining. Permanent alterations. Your mind reduced to a polite echo that curtsies on command. Every time you try to remember your real name, your net will flood you with pleasure so intense you forget why you ever wanted to be anyone else.” She leans closer, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “It will be public; humiliating. They want to make an example of you. And I guess your father, once someone recognises you.”

My voice cracks. “I can't betray ... he's my father ...”

“He’s an obstacle,” she corrects gently. “And you, little princess, are the perfect key. You wanted to feel out of control. We’re only giving you what you wanted.”

Tears prick, hot and useless.

I find some anger. “This isn't right. You sold me this ID chit; if I go down, you go down. I will tell everyone what you did. You'll be in prison with me when the truth comes out.”

Deyan sighs, theatrical. “I was hoping you’d be reasonable. If you haven't realised from the circumstances, I'm above the law. And besides, you need me. Tell someone, and it's justice for Etleena Avnos. Play along, and maybe daddy gets his princess back.”

She lifts a small glass ampoule filled with swirling violet smoke.

“Sleep on it.”

“No—wait—”

She crushes the ampoule beneath my nose. Sweet, cloying purple floods my lungs. The world tilts, softens, melts. The last thing I hear is Deyan’s whisper against my glossed cheek.

“Sweet dreams, your highness. You'll know when it’s time.”

I slump into the chair, asleep.