The cold deepens again, reaching a point that demands attention. My breath fogs faintly in front of my mouth. I draw my knees closer, tucking in tighter, making myself smaller.
I could keep doing this. I know that. I could ride this line for hours, days, until they have every data point they want. I could be perfect.
And then what?
The voice speaks again, and this time there is something almost approving in its cadence. “Maintaining optimalphysiological parameters. Subject Snow exhibits exceptional adaptive efficiency.”
Exceptional.
I feel something crack - not sharply, not loudly, but with the quiet certainty of ice giving way beneath weight it can no longer support.
My calm has always been my armour. The thing no one could take from me because it lived entirely inside my own skull. To hear it reduced to a metric, a resource to be harvested, makes my stomach twist in a way the cold never could.
I realise, with sudden clarity, that surviving well is a form of collaboration.
The next disruption comes and I am ready for it. Heat spikes, sound blares, light flares?—
—and I let it in.
I let my breath hitch instead of smoothing it out. I let my shoulders tense. I let the rush of sensation knock me off balance instead of absorbing it.
My heart rate surges. I feel it pounding against my ribs, loud and uncooperative. My breathing goes shallow, uneven. Panic is not quite the word, but I stop myself from correcting course.
For the first time since waking, I allow myself to feel cold as discomfort rather than data.
“Deviation detected,” the voice says immediately.
Good.
I push further. I let the tremor in my hands become a shake. I drag in a breath that stutters halfway through, chest tightening. My thoughts scatter deliberately, refusing to settle into the familiar grooves.
The room responds at once.
The temperature stabilises, rising just enough to halt the worst of the shivering. The noise cuts out. The lights return to their steady, neutral glow.
They are intervening.
They do not wantthisdata.
I look up at the blank ceiling, breath still uneven, and smile properly this time. It feels strange on my face, unfamiliar after so long spent smoothing every edge.
“So,” I say softly, voice rough and uncontrolled. “You do have preferences.”
There is no answer.
But I have learned something vital.
My calm isvaluableto them.
Which means my chaos might be dangerous.
The cold seeps back in, gentler now, as if coaxing rather than imposing. I remain where I am, shaking, breathing too fast, refusing the reflex to correct myself. It takes effort – more effort than stillness ever did – but I hold the line.
This will cost me. I am not naïve enough to think otherwise. Systems do not tolerate inefficiency. They escalate. They punish.
But as my teeth chatter and my muscles ache from tension instead of cold, I feel something else settle into place beneath the discomfort.
Choice.
