“No,” I whisper before I can stop myself. The sound feels too loud, too solid. Snow’s head snaps toward me. Bones stiffens. Honey looks up, eyes wide with immediate concern.
The room leans back in.
Pressure returns, sharp and focused.
I suck in a breath, dizzy with the sudden attention.
That’s it,Donnelly mutters softly.They want proof of existence.
They want me to perform myself.
I laugh, a broken sound that scrapes my throat. My hands curl into fists on my knees, nails biting skin. I don’t want to disappear. I don’t want to be simplified.
I slam my fist into the floor.
Pain explodes up my arm, clean and immediate. The sensation is grounding in a way hunger never is. Real. Indisputable.
The room snaps to attention.
“Subject exhibits distress behaviour,” the voice overhead notes calmly.
Good.
I hit the floor again. And again. And again until my knuckles split. Blood beads, bright against pale skin. The sting is sharp enough to anchor both Silas and Donnelly at once, pulling them into alignment through sheer sensation.
That works,Donnelly breathes, suddenly close again.Do that.
Snow steps forward instinctively, then stops himself at the boundary, jaw tight. Hatchet’s gaze locks on me, intense, warning. Bones half-rises from the bench before freezing, calculating the cost.
Honey looks like he’s about to break. I meet his eyes and shake my head once, hard.Don’t help.
I strike the floor one last time and then still myself, chest heaving, fists throbbing.
The room hums, displeased but alert.
I lean back against the barrier, sliding down until I’m sitting again, blood smearing faintly on the surface beneath me.
“They see us now,” I whisper, not caring who hears. “That’s the problem.”
The attention doesn’t leave.
It won’t, now.
Silas settles, composed. Donnelly burns bright and furious, but present.
I’m still here.
That’s the victory.
Not comfort. Not safety.
Visibility.
And as hunger coils tighter and the room waits for the next fracture, I understand something with terrible clarity: They canstarve us. Hurt us. Strip us down to essentials. But they don’t get to decide which parts of me survive.
I press my injured hand against the floor, feeling the ache bloom and spread. Real.
I cling to it.
