The door clicks behind us—CLICK—locking automatically, the sound echoing down the sterile corridor. I glance back, hand still pressed over Serafin's, whose breathing is uneven—HAAH… HAAH…—each gasp a reminder of how fragile he is.
"Where… where are we?" I demand, voice low, eyes scanning the harsh white walls.
"You're in a secure wing," the tactical officer replies, voice calm but sharp. "Not a hospital in the traditional sense."
I grit my teeth. "So basically a prison with monitors."
"Controlled environment," he corrects, expression unreadable.
I glance at Serafin. "He needs real medical attention. You can't just patch him up and keep him locked in a place like this."
One of the medics adjusts the oxygen mask—HISS—and checks his vitals. "He's stable enough for transport, but still critical. Any movement outside this controlled environment risks his life."
I grit my teeth. "And being here doesn't?"
"The facility has full life-support systems," the officer says evenly. "Everything he needs is here."
I snort bitterly. "Everything he needs, except freedom."
Serafin groans—GROAN—and his fingers curl weakly around mine. "Cao… I'm… tired."
I press my forehead against his temple. "Shh, don't talk. Just stay with me."
A soft beep—BEEP… BEEP…—from the monitor punctuates the silence. Every pulse seems to hammer in my ears.
"Are you capable of staying calm?" the officer asks abruptly, stepping closer. "Because his condition demands focus, not hysteria."
"I'm calm," I snap, though my heart is hammering. "But don't mistake calm for obedience."
He studies me a moment, then nods. "Point taken. Still, he needs supervision, not emotional distraction."
I clench my jaw. "He's alive because of me. Don't you forget that."
The tactical officer exhales sharply. "Noted. But you're not the only variable here."
"What does that even mean?" I ask, a chill creeping into my chest.
"Just… expect the unexpected," he says, eyes narrowing slightly. "Your presence complicates things."
I shake my head, glaring. "Complicates things? I'm the reason he's still breathing."
The medic checks Serafin again—CLACK CLACK—adjusting his IV lines. "He's holding. Barely, but he's holding."
I press my hand harder into his. "Hold on. Please… just hold on."
Outside the room, a distant voice echoes—MURMUR—indistinct, controlled, almost whispering.
"What was that?" I ask, voice tight.
The officer glances toward the door. "Authority figure. Only brief inspection. They'll be gone soon."
I feel a cold weight settle in my stomach. "Brief inspection? That's code for watching us like caged animals."
"Caged," he mutters, "is subjective."
I look down at Serafin. His eyelids flutter, half-conscious. "Cao… can't…" His words trail off into a weak groan—HNNG.
"Shh," I whisper fiercely. "Don't. I'm here. I won't leave."
The monitor beeps again—BEEP… BEEP…—his pulse climbing and falling in tiny, jagged waves.
"Move him again?" I ask the medic, gesturing to the bed.
"Not until he stabilizes further," she replies. "Any sudden movement could—"
I cut her off. "Could what? Kill him? Because that seems likely enough."
The tactical officer's jaw tightens. "I suggest you restrain your tone."
"Restrain my tone?" I snap. "I'd like to see you calm if someone tried to drag him away while he's barely alive!"
A soft footstep—STEP… STEP…—from the corridor interrupts us. The officer stiffens slightly. "That's them."
"Them?" I echo. "Who the hell is—"
A shadow appears briefly at the doorway—a figure too tall, too calm. "Patient secured?" the voice asks.
"Yes," the tactical officer replies without hesitation.
The figure steps closer—CLICK CLACK—then stops, observing. "And the variable?"
I stiffen. "Variable?" I echo sharply.
"You," the voice says. "Unpredictable."
I grit my teeth, pressing my hand harder over Serafin's. "I'll make sure nothing happens to him. That counts as predictable."
A faint chuckle. "We'll see."
They leave—CLICK… FOOTSTEPS FADING—but the tension remains, heavy and suffocating.
Serafin whimpers—GROAN—weakly curling against me.
"I'm not letting go," I whisper. "Not now. Not ever."
The officer steps back, arms crossed. "Your cooperation is… appreciated."
"Appreciated?" I hiss. "Don't insult me. I don't trust you."
He tilts his head slightly. "Trust is irrelevant here."
I press my forehead against Serafin's once more, feeling the fragile rise and fall of his chest. "Then you better make sure he survives, because I'll do everything else."
The monitor beeps—BEEP… BEEP…—a fragile rhythm in the silence.
And as the doors lock again—CLICK—I realize one truth:
We may be safe… but we are not free.