Trying to process what just happened.
I sit wedged between Clay and Gabriel in the backseat, soaked clothes freezing against my skin while memories claw through my head so violently it feels like my skull might split apart.
The red room.
Oh God.
Not a punishment chamber.
A morgue.
My stomach twists violently.
Names painted onto the floor because children kept dying faster than they could track them properly.
Tiny names.
Tiny shoes beside beds.
Children crying for parents who never came.
My hands start shaking.
Clay notices immediately.
Of course he does.
His hand slides over mine instantly.
Warm.
Steady.
Grounding.
“Hannah.”
I can barely hear him over the roaring in my head.
A little boy screaming during electrical conditioning.
A girl vomiting after injections.
Avery helping me sing quietly in the dark because some of the younger children cried less when we sang.
Oh God.
A sob catches in my throat.
Gabriel sees it too.
And suddenly my brother looks like he wants to burn the world down.
“They made us watch,” I whisper.
The SUV goes silent.
Rain hammers against the roof overhead.
