Whitney's nightmare didn't surprise me.
I could almost see it through her eyes the basement lights, the sharp smells, the cold hands, the way people in the Blackwell circle treated bodies like tools. I didn't die instantly when Silas stabbed me. I bled out slowly, trapped in that thin space between waking and darkness.
And while I was still there… they took me downstairs.
Whitney was the reason.
They needed a heart. They needed mine.
Even if my eyes were closed, I believe Whitney knew. I believe something in her recognized me, the same way you recognize family by scent in a crowded room. She must have fought. She must have screamed. She must have refused.
But refusal doesn't matter when monsters decide your body belongs to them.
After that night, she lived with my heart beating inside her ribs. Not just a transplant. A reminder. A chain. A punishment she never asked for.
And that was why she didn't end her life, no matter how badly she wanted to.
