Failed stabilization.
Like she was defective equipment.
Something inside me finally snaps.
I move before anybody can stop me.
Clay catches my wrist instantly—
but not hard enough to hurt.
Just enough to pause me.
“Hannah.”
I’m shaking violently now.
“She killed them.”
“I know.”
“No—you don’t understand—”
“I know.”
His voice drops lower.
Softer.
But somehow more dangerous.
“I know exactly what she is.”
The doctor watches us carefully.
Analyzing.
Always analyzing.
Then her eyes drift slowly across the room toward the children.
And suddenly—
my stomach drops.
Because one little boy near the far wall looks familiar.
Dark curls.
Bruise beneath one eye.
Tiny scar near his chin.
No.
No no no.
Memory detonates instantly.
