Alive.
For now.
Our eyes meet.
Just for a heartbeat.
And in that instant, something passes between us—recognition without familiarity. Shared hell. Shared endurance.
You’re not alone.
The guard notices.
He slams the baton into the bars, inches from my face.
“Eyes forward!”
The man is hauled away.
The door slams.
Darkness follows again—this time complete.
The sound system hums.
Static.
Then the breathing starts over.
Different cell.
Different man.
Same message.
I close my eyes and grit my teeth until my jaw aches.
This is escalation.
They’re not interrogating anymore.
They’re demonstrating.
I swallow hard and whisper into the dark; the words barely sound.
“They’re scared.”
Because this isn’t control.
This is panic dressed up as order.
Malenkov wouldn’t do this unless something slipped.
Unless someone reached us.
Unless—
A faint pulse of warmth flares in my chest.
