Not like children look at rescuers.
Like prisoners studying variables.
Assessing danger.
Calculating outcomes.
Sentinel taught them that.
My chest aches so badly I can barely breathe through it.
The little girl still grips the edge of my sleeve with trembling fingers.
Tiny.
Cold.
I look down at her gently.
“What’s your name?”
She hesitates.
Fear flickers instantly across every child’s face.
Not fear of me.
Fear of answering.
One of the older boys speaks quickly before she can.
“We’re not supposed to use names.”
Oh God.
Clay mutters a curse behind me.
Russ looks like he wants to burn the entire bunker to the ground.
Gabriel crouches slowly beside another little boy.
“It’s okay.”
The boy immediately lowers his eyes.
Submission.
Conditioning.
Automatic obedience.
Every instinct inside me starts screaming.
Because I remember this.
Not perfectly.
Fragments.
