"But that doesn't mean you can't keep going."
He'd been right.
I was broken.
My mind was broken.
My memories were broken.
But I was still here.
Still standing.
Still fighting.
Still hunting.
Still alive.
The door opened.
I didn't look up. I didn't need to. I knew who it was.
"You're still here."
Matt's voice, soft and steady.
"I'm always here."
"It's almost dawn."
"I know."
"You should sleep."
"I know."
"But you won't."
"No."
He walked to the bar and sat on the stool beside me. His presence was warm, familiar, the kind of warmth that came from weeks of shared silence, of shared meals, of shared nights like this one.
"What are you doing?"
"Thinking."
"About what?"
"About the lullaby."
"The one you're always humming?"
"Yes."
"What about it?"
"It used to control me. Gabriel used it to trigger my conditioning. Whenever I heard it, my body would respond. My shoulders would drop. My jaw would go slack. I'd be ready to receive instruction."
