Chapter 69: This Time, I Speak I held her hand like it was the only thing keeping me from falling through the floor. Her fingers were small, cold, but they gripped mine like she was the one holding me up. Not the other way around. I didn’t let go. I wouldn’t. Not again. Not this time. The room around us didn’t dissolve slowly. It didn’t fade or blur. It just stopped being there. One second, we were standing in that steel-walled chamber, the air thick with silence and the weight of every breath I’d wasted. The next, we were in a hospital hallway. White walls. White floor. White ceiling. White lights. Everything sterile. Everything empty. Except for us. And them. Two orderlies. Tall. Broad. White coats. Moving toward her. Slow. Steady. Like they had done this a hundred times before. Like they didn’t even see her. Like she was just another thing to be moved. Another problem to be solved. Another file to be signed. She didn’t scream. She didn’t cry. She didn’t run. She just stood there. Clutching the rabbit. Watching me. Waiting for me to do something. I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. I didn’t breathe. I just stood there. Watching. Waiting. Knowing. This was it. This was the regret. This was the moment. This was the breath. This was the beginning of the end. The orderly’s hand tightened. Just slightly. Just enough to guide her forward. Just enough to pull her away from me. Just enough to break the last thread between us. She didn’t resist. She didn’t look back. She just let him lead her away. Step by step. Down the hallway. Away from me. Toward the door. Toward the room. Toward the table. Toward the scalpel. Toward the silence. Toward the end. I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. I didn’t breathe. I just stood there. Watching. Waiting. Knowing. This was it. This was the regret. This was the moment. This was the breath. This was the beginning of the end. The door closed behind them. Soft. Quiet. Final. I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. I didn’t breathe. I just stood there. Alone. In the empty hallway. In the white silence. In the cold light. In the weight of everything I had done. Everything I had failed to do. Everything I had broken. Everything I had lost. I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. I didn’t breathe. I just stood there. Until I couldn’t stand it anymore. Until the silence became too loud. Until the memory became too heavy. Until the regret became too sharp. I dropped to my knees. The floor was cold. Hard. Unforgiving. Like it had been waiting for me to fall. Like it had known I would. I screamed. Not at the orderlies. Not at the door. Not at the hospital. Not at the world. At myself. At the boy standing at the end of the hallway. Watching. Waiting. Doing nothing. “Move!” I screamed. “Move! Move! Move!” He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He didn’t breathe. He just stood there. Watching. Waiting. Knowing. This was it. This was the regret. This was the moment. This was the breath. This was the beginning of the end. I screamed again. Louder. Raw. Desperate. Like if I screamed hard enough, long enough, loud enough, he would hear me. He would listen. He would move. He would run. He would fight. He would break something. He would steal her away. He would keep his promise. He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He didn’t breathe. He just stood there. Watching. Waiting. Knowing. This was it. This was the regret. This was the moment. This was the breath. This was the beginning of the end. I reached out. Toward her. Toward the memory. Toward the past. Toward the moment I could still fix. My fingers brushed against hers. Small. Cold. Fragile. And then— She slipped away. No. Not again. Not this time. I pulled her back. Hard. Fast. I yanked her behind me, putting myself between her and the orderlies. My body blocked her. My arms spread wide. My chest pushed out. I stood like a wall. Like a door. Like a shield. The orderlies stopped. Not because I told them to. Not because I moved fast. Not because I looked dangerous. They stopped because the air changed. Because Mirabel was here. She stepped up beside me. Not in front. Not behind. Beside. Shoulder to shoulder. Her scalpel glowed blue in her hand. Not bright. Not flashing. Just steady. Like a heartbeat. Like a warning. She didn’t look at me. She didn’t look at the orderlies. She looked at the space between us. At the moment. At the choice. Her voice didn’t come from her mouth. It came from the walls. From the floor. From the air. From inside my head. “Choose.” I didn’t ask what she meant. I didn’t need to. I knew. Relive it. Or rewrite it. Relive the silence. Or speak now. Relive the watching. Or step forward. Relive the failure. Or fix it. I didn’t think. I didn’t weigh it. I didn’t hesitate. I just opened my mouth. And I shouted. “STOP!” The word cracked through the hallway like glass breaking. It didn’t echo. It didn’t fade. It just hung there. Solid. Real. Final. The orderlies turned. Slowly. Mechanically. Their faces were blank. No anger. No surprise. No confusion. Just empty. Like mannequins. Like shells. Like they were waiting for instructions. They faced me. Both of them. White coats. White gloves. White shoes. Blank faces. Waiting. For my next move.