Chapter 34: You Terminated Her Consent I jerked back like her hand was a live wire. My chest burned where she’d touched it, not from heat or pain, but from the weight of her words. Deleted her. Not forgot. Not lost. Deleted. Like a file. Like data. Like something you scrub from a system because it’s inconvenient. Or dangerous. “What does that even mean?” I snapped. My voice cracked. I didn’t care. “Did I wipe your name off a chart? Erase you from a database? Burn your ID? What did I delete? Your memory? Your face? Your goddamn existence?” She didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just stood there, bare feet planted on the cold floor, arms at her sides now. Her expression didn’t change. Not a twitch. Not a flicker. Like she was carved from stone. Like she’d rehearsed this moment a thousand times and knew exactly how it would play out. The surgical logs didn’t move. They hung between us, hundreds of them, each one a record of something I signed, something I authorized, something I buried. Each one stamped with her name. Mira. Not Lena. Mira. I still didn’t know why I’d called her Lena. I still didn’t know when I started doing it. All I knew was that it was wrong. A lie I told myself. A mask I put on her so I wouldn’t have to look at what I’d done. The logs shifted. Not all at once. Not dramatically. Just a slow, silent rearrangement, like pages turning in a book no one was holding. They moved without wind, without sound, without reason. One by one, they slid into place, forming a single line across the air in front of me. YOU TERMINATED HER CONSENT. The words were stark. Black. Final. No explanation. No context. Just that. Like a verdict. Like a sentence. Like the last thing anyone ever wrote about her before closing the file for good. I stared at it. My breath hitched. The counter on my chest was still frozen at forty-nine. I could feel it there, heavy and silent, like a bomb that hadn’t gone off yet. Like it was waiting for me to do something stupid. Like it was daring me. “Consent?” I whispered. The word tasted sour. “What consent? For what?” Mira didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. The logs were the answer. The room was the answer. The counter was the answer. I’d signed something. I’d authorized something. I’d made a decision that erased her right to say no. That’s what “terminated her consent” meant. I took away her choice. I made the call for her. I decided what happened to her body, her life, her future. And then I made sure no one could ever ask her about it again. I stepped forward. Not toward her. Toward the logs. Toward the sentence hanging in the air. My fingers curled into fists. My nails dug into my palms. I didn’t feel it. All I felt was the rage boiling up inside me, thick and black and useless. Rage at myself. Rage at the room. Rage at the silence. Rage at her, standing there like a statue, like she was waiting for me to break. I reached out. Not gently. Not carefully. I grabbed the nearest log. The one at the far left of the sentence. The “Y” in “YOU.” My fingers closed around the edge. It didn’t feel like paper. It felt like ice. Like glass. Like something that didn’t belong in this world. I yanked. It didn’t move. I pulled harder. My muscles strained. My breath came in short, sharp bursts. The log didn’t budge. It didn’t tear. It didn’t crumple. It just sat there, suspended, mocking me. Like it knew I couldn’t destroy it. Like it knew I couldn’t undo what I’d done. I gritted my teeth. I shifted my grip. I tried again. Same result. Nothing. The log stayed where it was. The sentence stayed whole. Mira stayed silent. I let go. My hand dropped to my side. I stared at the words. YOU TERMINATED HER CONSENT. Over and over. In my head. In my chest. In the air. I wanted to scream. I wanted to punch something. I wanted to tear the whole room apart, brick by brick, until there was nothing left but dust and silence. I took a step back. Then another. My chest heaved. My vision blurred. I blinked hard. I wouldn’t cry. I wouldn’t give her that. I wouldn’t give the room that. I wouldn’t give myself that. I looked at Mira. She hadn’t moved. Not an inch. Her eyes were on me. Not accusing. Not angry. Just… watching. Like she was waiting for me to understand. Like she was waiting for me to remember. I didn’t remember. I didn’t want to. I turned back to the logs. To the sentence. I studied it. Every letter. Every space. Every curve. I looked for a weakness. A seam. A crack. Something I could exploit. Something I could break. There was nothing. Just smooth, unyielding surface. Just words that wouldn’t fade. I raised my hand again. Not to grab. Not to pull. To strike. To smash. To shatter. I drew my arm back. I aimed for the center of the sentence. For the “T” in “TERMINATED.” I put everything I had into it. Every ounce of rage. Every drop of guilt. Every breath I had left. I swung. My fist passed right through it. No resistance. No impact. No sound. Just empty air. My arm kept going, momentum carrying me forward. I stumbled. I caught myself before I fell. I stood there, panting, my fist still clenched, my arm trembling. The sentence didn’t change. Not a letter out of place. Not a smudge. Not a scratch. It hung there, untouched. Untouchable. I lowered my arm. My shoulders slumped. I felt hollow. Empty. Like I’d just wasted the last bit of strength I had. Like I’d just proven how powerless I really was. I looked at Mira. She was still watching me. Still waiting. Still silent. I opened my mouth. I didn’t know what I was going to say. An apology? A question? A plea? I didn’t get the chance. The counter on my chest dropped. Just like that. No warning. No sound. No flash. One moment it was forty-nine. The next, it was forty-eight. I froze. My breath caught in my throat. My heart stopped. My mind went blank. I stared at the number. Forty-eight. Bright. Red. Unmistakable. Ticking down. One breath gone. Just like that. No reason. No trigger. No explanation. Just gone. I looked at Mira. Her expression hadn’t changed. Not a flicker. Not a twitch. Like she’d expected it. Like she’d known it would happen the second I tried to destroy the logs. Like she’d known I would fail. I looked back at the counter. Forty-eight. Then forty-seven. Then forty-six. It was moving again. Steady. Relentless. Unstoppable. I reached for the nearest log.