Her pupils dilate.
Breathing changing again.
She’s slipping backward into memory.
“Hannah,” I murmur quietly.
Too late.
She’s seeing something else now.
Her voice turns distant.
“There were blue rooms too.”
Everybody looks at her sharply.
Not now.
Not during this.
But we don’t control when the memories come anymore.
Gabriel steps closer carefully.
“What blue rooms?”
Hannah stares blindly toward the lit doorway.
“Recovery conditioning.”
Ice slides down my spine.
Oh God.
“There were different colors,” she whispers.
“Red for punishment.”
“White for testing.”
“Blue for memory alteration.”
Russ swears softly.
Sentinel wasn’t a prison.
It was a system.
Organized.
Structured.
Refined over decades.
Hannah’s eyes suddenly widen in horror.
“They used music.”
