Because it isn’t a lab.
It’s a nursery.
Tiny beds line the underground chamber.
Children.
At least twenty of them.
Some sleeping.
Some terrified.
Some hooked to IVs.
And standing in the center of the room beside a rolling medical cart—
is a woman in a white coat holding a syringe.
She turns slowly toward us.
Calm.
Almost curious.
Then her eyes land directly on Hannah.
And she smiles.
“Oh,” she says softly.
“Subject Thirteen survived.”
47
Hannah
The woman smiles at me like we’re old friends.
Like she didn’t spend years helping monsters destroy children underground.
My entire body goes cold.
Because I know her.
Not her name.
Not fully.
But enough.
White gloves.
Lavender perfume.
Soft voice during injections.
The woman who told us pain meant the treatment was working.
