She asks a different question?

Sylvia’s tongue moved along his member it was hot and rhythmic, a maddening sensation that drove the blood to his head and stripped away his last defenses. Just as he was spiraling into that trance, the pressure around his wrists vanished. The zip-ties fell to the stone floor with a sharp, hollow clack.

He slumped forward, gasping, only for Dasha to catch his shoulder with a firm, arresting grip. She didn't look like an concerned observer; she looked like a proctor. She shoved a thick, weathered parchment into his hand—a hand-drawn schematic of the institute’s subterranean levels.

"You have the tools, boy," Dasha said, her voice a cold, serrated blade. "But now you have to prove you can survive being desired. Consider this your first lesson of this school."

She pointed to a faint, ink-stained 'X' at the far end of the map. "My office. Find it. And remember," she added, her eyes narrowing as she glanced toward the door, "the quickest route is rarely the safest. The female students have desires and needs the fewer the better for inspired student. And if you think you can escape, think again. Those are the only hints that I can give you. If you want to remain with someone that has his sanity remember my warnings, don't let the corridors catch you off guard."

With a final, dismissive look, she and Sylvia turned on their heels, leaving him standing alone in the cold, dim room with nothing but the map and the lingering, phantom heat of Sylvia’s touch.