Darin lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
She lifted her left arm and held it above her face, wrist angled so she could see the band clearly. The glass caught the light, dull and colorless for now.
Her other hand came up slowly.
She wrapped her fingers around her own throat.
She felt the shape of it, the heat of her skin. The fragile certainty of bone and muscle beneath her palm.
She waited.
Her pulse ticked up, obedient and quick. The band responded with a faint vibration, barely more than a suggestion. A muted amber glow bloomed under the glass.
The overhead light adjusted by a fraction, brightening so slightly she would have missed it if she hadn't been watching for it.
Darin tightened her grip.
Her breathing grew uneven, shallow pulls scraping against her throat. The band vibrated again, stronger this time. Numbers flickered across the screen, too fast to read, then slowed. The amber deepened.
The room reacted in layers.
The temperature locked first. No more drifting warmth, no subtle correction against her skin. The air felt still, held in place.
Then the hum cut out completely.
The silence landed hard, pressing in on her ears until she realized it wasn't silence at all, it was control. A low, almost inaudible frequency replaced it, vibrating faintly through the mattress, through her bones.
Her vision blurred at the edges.
Darin squeezed harder.
Her chest burned. Her throat screamed. Black spots crawled across her sight like ink dropped into water. She tried to lift her wrist higher, to keep the band in view.
Her arm shook.
The band pulsed again. The light above her flattened further, shadows draining out of the room until everything looked wrong.
She kept going.
Her thoughts scattered, fraying at the edges. A sharp panic rose, clawing its way up her spine. Her hand at her neck trembled violently.
Her fingers refused to loosen.
Her other hand dropped, the wrist band slipping out of her line of sight as her arm fell against the bed. Her fingers curled uselessly into the blanket instead, clutching fabric like it could anchor her.
The room changed again.
Her vision tunneled. Her ears rang, high and thin, drowning out even the low vibration beneath her.
Darin gasped, or tried to. The sound came out wrong, strangled, half-formed.
Her grip broke.
Air tore back into her lungs in a violent rush as her body twisted, instinct overriding whatever resolve she had left. She rolled sideways–
Thud.
The edge of the bed disappeared beneath her.
She hit the floor hard, shoulder first, the impact knocking what little breath she'd regained straight back out of her. Pain flared sharp and immediate, grounding in its brutality.
She lay there, coughing, choking, vision swimming.
Darin dragged in a shaking breath and stared at the blank white wall, heart hammering so hard it felt like it might break through her ribs.
Her wrist band vibrated violently, no longer subtle, the screen blazing as if it were trying to scream for her. She couldn't lift her arm anymore. Her fingers clawed uselessly at the blanket she'd dragged down along with her, nails scraping fabric, then mattress, then nothing.
The light cut out, replaced by a pulsing crimson wash that soaked the walls, the bed, her hands. A low alarm filled the air.
Her hand slipped.
Her vision tunneled, black bleeding in from the edges. The ceiling blurred, fractured by the red glow. Somewhere above her, something disengaged with a sound like a breath being released.
Footsteps arrived almost immediately.
Boots struck the floor in synchronized rhythm, too precise to be hurried. The alarm continued, unchanged, as if it were part of the scenery now.
The door slid open.
Cool air rushed in, sharp and clean, slicing through the heat that had built up in her chest. Darin sucked it in greedily and choked, coughing weakly, her body shuddering as it tried to remember how to breathe on its own.
Red light spilled into the hallway as the door opened. Shadows crossed the doorway.
Three figures entered, silhouettes first, then detail resolving as they stepped into the red light. Dark uniforms. No visible insignia. Faces uncovered, expressions flat and professional, eyes already scanning the room instead of her.
Shapes entered her field of view, legs, shoes, knees bending near her. Someone touched her wrist. Someone else spoke, but the words slid past her, stretched and wrong.
"…levels dropping…"
"…she pulled back—"
A hand pressed against her shoulder, firm, practiced. Another adjusted something near her wrist. The alarm dulled, fading into a distant throb.
Her vision fractured.
The red light smeared into white.
She tried to focus, to hold onto something, faces, voices, the rhythm of their movements, but it all slipped through her.
The last thing she registered was how unhurried they sounded.
Then the world went dark.