Chapter 52: One Breath Left I sat on the floor staring at the counter above the table. One breath left for Mira. Just one. The machines around me didn’t move. The table didn’t shift. The lights didn’t flicker. Everything was still. Everything was quiet. Except for me. I was breathing. I was thinking. I was stuck. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to say. I just sat there, watching the number. It didn’t change. It didn’t blink. It didn’t count down. It just sat there, like it was waiting for me to make the next move. Like it was testing me. Like it was daring me. I stood up. I didn’t plan it. I didn’t think about it. I just stood. My legs carried me forward before my mind caught up. I walked to the table. I didn’t look at the restraints. I didn’t look at the machines. I didn’t look at the counter. I just walked. My feet moved like they remembered the way even if I didn’t. I stopped at the edge of the table. I looked down at it. I didn’t touch it. I didn’t test it. I just looked. Then I climbed onto it. I lay down. I didn’t fight it. I didn’t resist. I just let my body settle onto the surface. It was cold. Hard. Unforgiving. I didn’t care. The restraints snapped shut. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t pull away. I let them lock around my wrists. I let them lock around my ankles. I didn’t struggle. I didn’t test them. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling. The machines around me stirred. One beeped. Another hummed. A third clicked. They didn’t care that I was here. They didn’t care that I was breathing. They didn’t care that I had asked a question no one answered. They just did what they were built to do. The table didn’t move. The lights didn’t change. The counter didn’t tick. Everything stayed still. Everything stayed quiet. Except for the machines. They kept humming. Kept beeping. Kept clicking. Like they were having a conversation I wasn’t invited to. Mira’s voice came through the intercom. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t angry. It was quiet. Soft. Almost gentle. Like she was talking to me in a dream. “You’re choosing her life over yours.” I didn’t answer. I didn’t move. I didn’t blink. I just lay there, listening. Her voice didn’t echo. It didn’t fade. It just hung there, in the air, like it was part of the room now. Like it had always been there. Like it had been waiting for me to hear it. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to think. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, listening to her voice, feeling the restraints around my wrists and ankles, waiting for something to happen. The surgical arm descended. It didn’t come fast. It didn’t come sudden. It came slow. Smooth. Like it had been waiting under the ceiling for years and now it was finally being called down. The scalpel at the end of it gleamed under the lights. It didn’t look sharp. It didn’t look dangerous. It just looked clean. Precise. Ready. I didn’t look away. I didn’t close my eyes. I just watched it come down. I watched it stop above my chest. I watched the tip hover just above my skin. I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. I just lay there, watching the scalpel, listening to the machines, waiting for the next thing to happen. Mira’s counter flickered. Not to zero. Not to nothing. To two. I didn’t understand. I didn’t ask. I just watched. The scalpel didn’t move. The arm didn’t retract. The machines didn’t change their rhythm. The counter above the table stayed at two. I didn’t know what it meant. I didn’t know if it was a gift or a trick. I didn’t know if it was mercy or manipulation. I just lay there, waiting for the next thing to happen. Nothing happened. The silence stretched. The machines kept humming. The scalpel kept hovering. The counter kept glowing. I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. I didn’t breathe any deeper or shallower. I just existed. I just waited. Then I sat up. I didn’t think about it. I didn’t plan it. I just moved. The restraints didn’t stop me. They didn’t tighten. They didn’t shock me. They just let me sit up. I swung my legs over the side of the table. I placed my feet on the floor. I stood. The machines didn’t react. The scalpel didn’t follow me. The counter didn’t change. I walked away from the table. I didn’t look back. I didn’t hesitate. I just walked. I walked to the wall. I placed my hand against it. I pushed. Nothing happened. I walked to the other wall. I did the same. Nothing. I walked to the door. There was no door. Just smooth metal. I walked back to the center of the room. I stood there. I looked at the counter above the table. Still two. I looked at the scalpel. Still hovering. I looked at the machines. Still humming. I walked back to the table. I didn’t climb onto it. I didn’t lie down. I just stood beside it. I looked at the counter. I looked at the scalpel. I looked at the machines. I didn’t know what they wanted. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. I didn’t know if I was supposed to wait or act. I didn’t know if I was supposed to speak or stay silent. I didn’t know anything. I slammed my fist against the table. I didn’t plan it. I didn’t think about it. I just did it. My knuckles hit the metal surface. Pain shot up my arm. I didn’t care. I hit it again. Harder. The sound echoed through the room. The machines didn’t react. The scalpel didn’t move. The counter didn’t change. I hit it a third time. My hand throbbed. My wrist ached. I didn’t stop. I hit it again. And again. And again. Something clicked. A panel slid open beneath the table. I stopped hitting. I stepped back. I looked down. A small compartment had opened. Inside was a syringe. It was clear. The liquid inside was colorless. A label was printed on the side. One word. “TRANSFER.” I didn’t hesitate. I reached in. I took the syringe. I pulled off the cap. I pressed the needle against my neck. I pushed the plunger. The liquid entered my body. Cold. Fast. Silent. The counter above the table vanished. The machines stopped humming. The scalpel retracted. The lights dimmed. Mira’s voice came from the walls. Not from the intercom. From the walls themselves. Like the room was speaking. Like the air was speaking. “You took it from me. Now carry it.” I looked down at my chest. A new counter appeared. It glowed red. It read “1.”