Day 3 (continued)

She turns toward the machine room, her bare feet leaving faint impressions on the soft dungeon floor. Harper follows close behind, her movements jerky and uneven. They walk in unison toward the machines, their backs rigid with the effort of keeping upright.

The machine room's heavy door seals behind us with a mechanical hiss that makes both girls flinch. Isla's breathing becomes shallow and rapid as she absorbs the array of death mechanisms spread before her.

Harper moves closer to the drowner, her fingers tracing the cool glass walls where water will rise to end a life. She looks almost fascinated by the methodical brutality of it, her eyes lingering on the pipes and seals, the panels that control the flow.

Isla turns toward me. Her green eyes are wide and luminous with tears she’s barely holding back. She crosses her arms tightly over her chest, fingers digging into her upper arms like she’s bracing for impact. Her mouth opens once – no sound – then closes again. A single tear slips down her cheek.

I watch the tear track its path down her freckled skin, the salt tang of her fear thick in the space between us. Her chest rises and falls rapidly beneath her crossed arms, the delicate bones straining against the tight grip she maintains.

"Drowning," she whispers at last, her Scottish accent softer than I’ve ever heard it. "I... I want it to be quick."

"It will be almost painless,” I say. “I promise."

My thumb brushes a tear from her cheek, then another. Her skin is warm and damp beneath my touch. She doesn’t pull away – just exhales sharply when she sees my fingers come back wet.

"I trust ye," she says, voice faint and trembling. "Please... don't let me suffer, John."

I nod, though I cannot promise more than the procedure allows. My hand stays cupped to her face, fingers curling slightly along the line of her jaw. Her skin burns beneath my palm. Harper stands nearby, watching us both with red-rimmed eyes.

I open my arms. The movement is slow, deliberate. Isla stiffens for a heartbeat, startled by the gesture – then she steps in, arms circling my waist, her fingers pressing into the small of my back. She’s shaking. Her whole body trembles against mine, but she doesn’t pull away. Her breath comes in short, uneven bursts against my neck.

I hold her tighter, resting my chin on the crown of her head. Isla makes a small, broken sound in her throat, her fingers clutching at my shirt as if afraid I'll disappear. Her body heat seeps into me, her skin damp with perspiration and the salt of her tears.

"I'm sorry," I murmur into her hair.

The words feel hollow, insufficient. I breathe in the scent of her curls, her skin, the sharp edge of adrenaline rising off her.

Her grip shifts. One hand glides up my back, then curls around the nape of my neck. Her fingers slide into my hair and tug me downward until her forehead rests against my collarbone. Her breath shudders, warm and damp against my throat.

"Just... don't let go yet," she whispers.

There’s no demand in her voice – just the raw plea of a condemned woman clinging to the last human warmth she’ll ever feel.

Harper clears her throat softly. Isla tenses, breath catching, but she doesn’t release me. After a moment she lifts her face. Her eyes are wet, her lips parted, her expression caught between terror and need. She’s inches from me.

I don’t hesitate.

Her gasp is swallowed when our lips meet. Her hands move to frame my face, fingers brushing against my jaw as she parts her lips in surprise. I taste the salt of her tears and the bitter-sweet relief of the moment. She kisses back immediately, giving herself to the moment without hesitation or skill, only need. Her breath hitches when my tongue brushes hers. Her fingers tighten against my cheeks like she’s afraid I’ll pull away.

I don’t.

I deepen the kiss, one hand sliding down to the small of her back, pulling her closer. Her body molds against mine, her soft curves pressing into the solid line of my chest. The kiss becomes messy, desperate, her teeth catching my lip as she trembles. When we part, her breathing is ragged, her pupils blown wide.

I trace my hands down her arms, feeling goosebumps rise beneath my palms. Her skin is so warm, so alive – it's impossible to reconcile that with what's coming. She watches me with her face flushed, her breath unsteady. When I reach her hands, I intertwine my fingers with hers, squeezing gently.

She squeezes back with surprising force. She doesn’t speak – but the glazed shine in her eyes, the little quiver in her lip, the way she tilts a little closer – all of it answers the question I haven’t fully voiced.

"Do you want to do it?” I ask softly. “One last time?"

Isla's breath catches when my hand grips her ass, pulling her flush against me. She doesn't resist – she leans into it, her eyes bright with tears.

"Aye," she whispers, her words barely audible.

The word sends a jolt through me, but it's not lust – something closer to heartbreak. She wants this because it’s the last thing she’ll feel. Her arms wind around my neck as she rises onto her toes, her breasts pressing against my chest. I can feel the rapid thud of her heart, her whole body trembling with fear and yearning intertwined.

I lift Isla easily, her legs instinctively wrapping around my waist as I carry her toward the nearest metal table. The other girls watch in horrified silence, but I ignore them. This moment isn't for them.

Isla buries her face in my neck, tears warm against my skin as she clings to me. When I set her down on the table, she looks up at me with eyes that shine with desperate need.

"Now," she breathes, her hands already working at my belt. "Before I lose the courage."

My fingers slide into Isla's hair as she works my belt open, her movements swift and practiced despite her quivering hands. She peels down my pants with an urgency that borders on panic, her breath hot against my stomach. There's no hesitation, no second-guessing. Just desperate, single-minded focus.

I push her back onto the cold metal table, the contact sending a shiver through her body. Her legs part immediately, heels digging into the edge as she pulls me down with her. She's already wet when I press against her – maybe from the fear, maybe from the touch, maybe both. She whimpers as I slide inside, her back arching off the table.

Her body is impossibly tight around me, her inner walls fluttering like a trapped bird. Isla's nails dig into my biceps as I push deeper, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. I feel every twitch, every small spasm as she struggles to breathe through the overwhelming intensity.

She's so warm, so alive, and the thought of her being anything else – of her ending this way – makes my grip on her tighten instinctively. I set a ruthless pace from the start, knowing she doesn't want tenderness. Not now. Not when she needs to be reminded of what it means to be alive before she's ripped away from it.

Isla's fingers tighten against my biceps as I thrust into her, her back arching sharply with every movement. She's wet, hot, and tight – her body gripping me like she never wants to let go. Tears stream down her face, mixing with the sweat along her temples as her breath comes in ragged gasps. She clings to me, her nails biting into my skin as her body moves in time with mine.

"I want to feel ye," she whispers hoarsely, her words breaking. "Make me forget – just for a little while."

Her words crack as she says them, her whole body shaking as she moves beneath me. Her heels press harder against the edge of the table, lifting her hips as she meets my thrusts with a desperate eagerness.

She's already close – I can feel it in the way her walls clench around me, in the way her breath hitches as I grind against her clit with every thrust. She's giving herself over to this completely, pushing aside all fear, all hesitation, and focusing only on the sensation of being filled by me.

I slow down slightly, rolling my hips in slow, deep circles to drag out the moment. Isla gasps, her hands moving from my arms to grip the edges of the table, her knuckles white with the effort of holding on. Her thighs tremble around me, quivering with the effort of meeting my movements.

I press my palm against Isla's sternum, feeling her hammering heartbeat as I watch her face. Her eyelids flutter, her pupils blown wide as she lets out a soft, shuddering moan. She's close – so close – and the way her body arches toward me betrays how much she needs this release.

"Please," she breathes, her nails scraping against the metal beneath her. "Please, John-"

I don't let her finish. Instead, I increase the pace again, slamming into her with renewed force. Her back lifts off the table as a choked cry escapes her, her legs locking around my hips to keep me as deep as possible.

The metal table groans under our weight as we both move in perfect synchronization. Her nails rake down my back, leaving fresh marks that sting and pulse in time with my pounding heartbeat. Every thrust drives her higher, and I can see the exact moment her body betrays her – her back arches impossibly further, her heels dig into the table's edge, and her walls clench around me with a strength that nearly sends you over the edge.

"John, I'm-" She doesn't finish the sentence before her whole body tenses, her mouth falling open in a silent scream. Her thighs lock around me, holding me impossibly deep as her orgasm tears through her.

I watch Isla shudder beneath me, her body convulsing as her orgasm rips through her with violent intensity. Her nails dig into my back, her back arching off the table as she gasps for breath, her entire body shaking with the force of it.

She's so beautiful like this – sweat-slicked skin flushed deep red, her freckles nearly swallowed by the color, her mouth open in a silent scream. I feel every pulse of her around me, her inner walls fluttering and gripping in erratic waves.

"I cannae – cannae breathe," she gasps, though it's more from the overwhelming pleasure than any real lack of oxygen.

My rhythm falters as I feel the familiar heat rise in my core. Isla's body still trembles beneath me, her inner walls pulsing around my cock in the aftermath of her climax. I thrust harder, the metal table screeching in protest as I drive into her with all the force I can muster.

Isla's eyes lock onto mine, wide and desperate, still glistening with unshed tears. She arches her back again, her breasts pressing up as she gasps my name.

"Please," she whispers, though I don't know if she means for me to stop or to continue. Maybe both. Maybe neither.

Her body clenches around me like a vice, still rippling with the aftershocks of her orgasm. I can feel the heat of her walls, so tight around me, so slick and welcoming despite the circumstances. Despite the terror. Despite knowing what comes next.

Isla's hands slide up to my shoulders, her grip unsteady as she pulls me down into a desperate kiss. Her tongue meets mine, clumsy and frantic, as if she can prolong this moment by the intensity of it. Her hips rock up to meet mine, her body still moving with need, still chasing pleasure even as time is running out.

"I feel ye," she whispers against my lips, her breath coming in short gasps.

My vision narrows as the intense pressure builds, every muscle in my body tensing as I thrust deep. Isla's fingers dig into my shoulders, her back arching off the metal table as I spill inside her. Her inner walls convulse around me, milking every last drop with hungry contractions.

I rest my forehead against hers, both of us panting heavily. Isla's skin feels fever-hot against mine, her face still flushed from exertion and pleasure. Her green eyes search mine, vulnerable and pleading. I let a few moments pass like this, before I do what I must.

My hands slide beneath her, lifting Isla with effortless strength. Her legs instinctively wrap around my waist, my cock still buried deep inside her as I rise. For a moment, it's just the two of us, isolated in this brutal reality – her arms around my neck, her face pressed against my shoulder, the steady rhythm of my heartbeat against hers.

Then reality crashes back in. The cold metal under my feet. The hushed breathing of the other girls watching. The glass and metal of the drowner waiting beyond us.

Isla doesn't speak, but I feel her chest heaving against mine. Even beneath the fading haze of pleasure, fear pulses through her in waves.

I step through the reinforced door into the glass chamber of the drowner. It’s a simple yet horrifying design – merely a transparent cylinder with a drainage system at the bottom. No mechanical contraptions here, no fancy torture devices. Just physics and time working against the condemned. Water drips from the ceiling, echoing in the confined space as I carry Isla inside. Her body trembles against mine, her skin growing clammy with nervous sweat despite the heat of our bodies.

I lower her gently until her feet find the slick tile. Her legs wobble, buckling for a moment before she catches herself with a hand on my chest. Her gaze sweeps the clear walls encircling us.

"This is it," she whispers.

I keep my hands on her arms to steady her. She looks up at me, tears gathering, fear carving every line of her face.

"I don't want tae do this," she breathes, her words cracking. "I don't want tae die."

I don't answer immediately. What can I say? That I understand? That I feel sympathy? That I wish there was another way?

I tilt her chin up with my fingers.

"You don't have to be afraid."

Isla shudders at my touch, her pupils dilated in the dim light of the chamber. The water continues its slow drip onto the floor around us both, forming tiny ripples across the wet tiles. She watches it with a strange fascination, as if studying the movement could distract her from what's coming.

"I'm already afraid," she says softly, barely audible over the steady trickle. "But ye make me feel..." She swallows. "I don't want tae lose this. Not yet. Just for a little longer."

Her hands press against my chest. Before I can respond, she pulls me down, and her mouth is on mine – desperate, trembling, tasting of fear and tears. I kiss her back without hesitation. Isla clings to me, her fingers gripping my shirt as if she could keep me anchored through sheer force of will. Her mouth opens under mine, eager and desperate, her tongue meeting mine with frantic urgency.

When we finally break apart, both breathing heavily, tears streak down her face. They catch in the dim lighting, suspended like tiny diamonds before falling. She presses her forehead against my chest, her body trembling.

"I can't stop shaking," she whispers.

I wrap my arms around her, feeling every tremor, every sharp breath. For a moment, I let her lean into me completely.

But the moment can’t last.

“I need to go.”

She stiffens instantly, digging her fingers into my shirt.

"No," she breathes. The word is jagged, shredded by panic. "Not yet… Please."

I should pull away. Turn toward the exit. End this cleanly. Instead, my hand rises to stroke her curls before I can stop it. She shudders at the contact.

"I know I have to," she continues, her voice cracking. "I know it's stupid to beg, but I can't stop myself. Just..." She inhales shakily, her breath hot against my chest. "A little longer. Please."

Her hand comes up to my face, touching me with a tenderness that cuts deeper than anything else tonight. Her thumb traces my cheekbone as she looks up at me with wet, glistening eyes.

"Ye're not as cruel as they think ye are," she whispers. "I know that."

I feel something crack open inside my chest – small, sharp, like the splintering of wood. She's wrong. I am cruel. I have been cruel. But right now, with her hands on me, her body pressed against mine, I can't bring myself to believe it.

Isla's thumb continues its soft, circular motions along my cheek, her other hand still fisted in my shirt. The wet drip of water from the pipes above echoes through the chamber, each drop marking the slow passage of time that neither of us dares to acknowledge.

Finally, I force myself to step back.

Isla’s fingers cling for a final second before slipping away. She looks up at me through tears, her breath shuddering in the cold, damp air.

"Ye have tae," she says, voice hushed. "I know that."

Her hands fall limply to her sides, fists unclenching. She swallows, her face contorts as she tries to keep her composure.

"I'm sorry I have to do it," I tell her as I step out of the chamber. "Farewell, Isla."

My hand hesitates on the control panel as I lock the door to the drowner. Isla's wide, panicked eyes lock with mine through the glass.

I turn to Harper and hand her the remote to the drowner.

"Press the button. Let's finish what we started."

Harper stares at it like it’s a live weapon. Her breath stutters, her hands flexing before closing into shaking fists. When she finally reaches for the remote, her fingers brush mine – ice-cold.

"I can't believe you're making me do this," she whispers, though she’s already taking it.

Her thumb hovers above the red switch. The trembling is so intense I half expect her to drop the device. She doesn’t. She lifts it to eye level, breathing in shallow, panicked bursts.

Inside the drowner, Isla presses her palms against the glass, fogging it with frantic breaths.

Harper’s throat bobs. Sweat beads at her temple. The remote wobbles in her grip. Her thumb dips toward the button, pulls back, dips again.

"You don't have to make a show of it," she murmurs. "Just say the word, and I'll do it."

Her eyes meet mine – raw, pleading not for mercy or forgiveness, but for permission to stop hesitating.

"Do it."

The command leaves my mouth harder, heavier, more final than I intend. Harper shudders, catching her breath. For a second, she hesitates – the remote quivers in her grip, her thumb twitching just above the red switch. Then, with a ragged exhale, she slams her thumb down on the button.