"Mice are skittish," he whispers, cool, daunting breath fanning over her paling face, "always running. But in the end?" He steps closer, hand outstretched, "They get caught in the trap." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Barbara had a sister. Eleanor survived Hawkins. Barely. Something watches her. Not hunting. Not saving. Just... learning. He offers quiet. Control. Safety that feels wrong the second it works. And she lets it. Trapped, trembling, alive. And somehow, for reasons she can't explain, she's not running.