Chapter 81: The Child’s Name I stared at the screen. The child’s face filled it. Round cheeks. Wide eyes. A small gap between her front teeth. She looked like she was waiting for someone to say something nice. Like she trusted the world to be kind. I didn’t know her name. I didn’t know if she had a favorite color or if she cried when she scraped her knee or if she still believed in monsters under the bed. I didn’t know anything about her except that she was next. And I had to choose. Mirabel didn’t move. She stood beside the console, scalpel humming low in her grip. Not threatening. Not angry. Just waiting. Like this was a test she already knew the answer to. Like she had seen me do this before. Maybe I had. “Say her name,” Mirabel said. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My throat felt like it had been packed with dry cotton. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I tried to swallow but nothing moved. The screen didn’t change. The child didn’t blink. She just kept looking at me like I was supposed to save her. “Say it,” Mirabel said again. “Out loud.” I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. I tried again. A whisper. A croak. Not even that. Just air moving through a broken pipe. Mirabel didn’t sigh. Didn’t roll her eyes. Didn’t tap her foot. She just stood there. Patient. Like she had all the time in the world. Like the countdowns on the other screens didn’t matter. Like the alarms that started blaring a second later were just background noise. The room sealed. Metal panels slid over the doors. Vents snapped shut. The air got heavier. Thicker. Like breathing through wet cloth. The system labeled me. Big red letters flashed above the console. PRIMARY LIABILITY. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t look away from the screen. The child was still there. Still waiting. Still trusting. I wanted to scream. I wanted to punch the screen. I wanted to tear the whole room apart with my bare hands. But I didn’t move. I just stood there. Frozen. Useless. Mirabel stepped closer. Not to stop me. Not to help me. Not to say anything. Just to be there. Watching. Waiting. The scalpel in her hand didn’t waver. It didn’t shake. It didn’t point at me. It just hummed. Steady. Calm. Like it knew what was coming. I turned to her. Not to fight. Not to argue. Not to beg for mercy. I dropped to my knees. Right there. In front of the console. In front of the screen. In front of her. I looked up at her. My hands were empty. My voice was gone. My choices were used up. All I had left was this. “Take it,” I said. Mirabel didn’t move. Not at first. She just looked down at me. Her face didn’t change. No smile. No frown. No pity. No anger. Nothing. Just her. Watching. Waiting. Like she had been doing this whole time. Then she smiled. Small. Quiet. Like she had been waiting for this exact moment. Like she had known I would break. Like she had planned for it. She reached down. Not to help me up. Not to touch my shoulder. Not to say anything. She just took the scalpel. Held it between her fingers. Turned it slowly. Watched the light catch the edge. Then she looked at me again. And nodded.