Not even

“Night!” The professor looked up from his desk, waving cheerily to the young codebreaker as she gathered her belongings and headed for the door. His protegee. His favourite.

She lived in digs, close to the site. Just a short walk. Cutting across the park: still safe enough, on these dark nights.

Until the hand reached round her mouth, and pulled her to the undergrowth. Until other hands grabbed her, lifted her off the ground. Threw her roughly into the back of the waiting car, and sped off.

—

“So, what is it that goes on on the site,” they’d asked. But she wasn’t one for divulging secrets.

Not even when they slapped her across the face.

Not even when they stripped her. Touched and squeezed, teased and insulted.

Not even when they tied her to the frame and whipped her.

Not even whey they immersed her head in the bucket of icy water to bring her back to her senses.

Not even when they brought in the new girl from the hut in which she worked. The lass she’d been looking after, helping to settle. Not even when they told her that her friend would be whipped, unless she told them what they needed to know. Not even as the lash started to bring screams from the younger woman.

Not even when her friend had been dragged away. Not even when they bent her over the table, binding her tight, caning her until she writhed and pleaded.

Not even when the man moved close behind her. When she heard him unzip his trousers. When he entered her… as they taunted, and told her he’d stop if she would just be a good girl.

Not even when they untied her, and left her broken on the floor, in darkness.

—

And then the lights went on, and the professor was there. Reaching out to her. Holding her. “You’re safe. You’ve passed.”

“Passed?”

“I knew we could trust you. We just had to be sure. I’ll tell you about the new project in the morning. Congratulations: I’m so proud of you…”