At a rapid pace, we went down corridors that I tried to memorise and into a lift identical to the one that had delivered me to the clinic. I counted the floors off again, and when we stepped out into the parking area my eyes jerked involuntarily to the door that they had taken Louise through. My recollections of time during the torture were hazy — the Envoy conditioning was deliberately curtaining off the experience to avert the trauma — but even if it had gone on a couple of days, that was about ten minutes real time. I'd probably only been in the clinic an hour or two maximum, and Louise's body might still be waiting for the knife behind that door, her mind still stacked.