Not light. Not warmth.
Pure, clinical white.
Frost coated every visible surface.
The walls. The floor. Even the air itself felt heavy with cold.
A digital display on the wall glowed a harsh, unforgiving red:
-42°C.
“No...” The word slipped out of me, weak and trembling.
Panic surged.
I fought.
Really fought this time.
“Don’t—no—please!”
I struggled violently against them, my legs flailing despite the pain. “Don’t put me in here!”
One of my kicks connected, but it wasn’t enough.
“Please—I’m begging you!”
My voice broke into raw desperation.
“The baby—Vincenzo’s baby—he’s coming—I can feel him—he’s pressing down—I’ll freeze—I’ll lose him!”
For the first time—
There was hesitation.
One of the guards shifted slightly, his grip loosening just enough to suggest doubt.
Another muttered something under his breath.
Low. Uncertain. Almost human.
But they didn’t stop.
They carried me forward.
Careful. Reluctant.
As if trying not to hurt me.
As if trying not to make this worse than it already was.
But that didn’t change anything.
They were still doing it. And I was powerless to stop them.
My heart pounded as contractions began.
Sharp. Low. Painful.
