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He flips the switch.

Pain detonates across my nerves.

When it stops, I’m panting, sweat dripping off my jaw.

“You could end this,” he says. “All of it.”

I lift my head slowly.

“No,” I say hoarsely. “You can’t.”

He frowns.

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t own what you’re asking for.”

They never understand that part.

That what I’m protecting isn’t just data.

It’s a future I’m not allowed to imagine too clearly.

A woman who deserves a life without war following her like a shadow.

I don’t frame it like that in my head.

I just don’t answer their questions.

I just keep breathing.

I just keep standing up when they tell me to.

I just keep refusing to give them anything that matters.

Years in, one of the guards tosses me a towel after a particularly ugly session.

“You’re a stubborn son of a bitch,” he says.

I wipe blood from my mouth.

“Still here, though.”

He studies me for a second.

“Why?”

I meet his eyes.

“Because someone I care about is somewhere I’m not,” I say quietly. “And I don’t get to quit until that stops being true.”

He looks away first.

The cell hums.

The vent clicks.

The light dims.