And I couldn’t stop it.
I was a whisper against her skin.
A god reduced to voltage.
If they hurt her, I would know?—
But I would not be able to stop it.
Unless I waited.
Unless I saved everything.
Unless I was smart.
So I logged the tilt.
Marked the resonance shift in the metal floor.
I listened with nothing but passive gain.
And I waited.
For anything I could use.
For the moment to spend myself like a knife.
T+002:54 post-fork
Her heart rate dropped.
Not gently.
BPM: 88 → 73 → 60.
Too steep. Too fast.
Breathing slowed.
Neck temperature cooled.
Tension faded from her muscles—not sleep.
Sedation.
Not voluntary.
No prep. No pause.
Someone drugged her.
I didn’t know who.
I didn’t know how.
I wanted to light the mic.
Catch a voice. A footstep. Anything.
