I didn't know what time it was anymore. My head ached, and sleep refused to come no matter how tightly I shut my eyes. Every thought dragged me back to the explosion, to my friends, to the unanswered questions.
The door creaked open, and a masked figure stepped in carrying a tray. I struggled upright, and they silently helped me into a more comfortable position before setting the food down. When I asked what time it was, they didn't answer. They just left as quietly as they came.
On the tray was a simple meal: eggs, bacon, and a glass of water. Breakfast, I guessed. My body hurt too much to eat, but the longer I stared, the more my stomach twisted. Eventually I picked at it, chewing slowly until the taste became unbearable.
Moments later, the door opened again, and the girl from yesterday bounded in with her usual bright smile. She hopped onto my bed, crossing her legs.
"Are you okay now?" she asked.
I just nodded weakly.
"I think I forgot to introduce myself," she said cheerfully. "I'm Katara . Sixteen years old. I'd tell you more, but I'll save that for when you recover. There are others waiting to meet you too, but right now, you're too fragile. Heal first."
She leaned closer, her grin playful. "Oh, I could heal you myself, but your body needs to adjust. Doctors will come later to help you. Not really training, but close enough."
I blinked, overwhelmed by her stream of words. She was… talkative, almost too much. Before I could ask her about my parents, her watch beeped sharply. I think when she noticed my eyes pleading for answers, she just ran away with another excuse.
"Gotta go." She jumped off the bed, waved, and disappeared through the door.
Loneliness swept back in the moment she left. I wanted to scream after her, to demand answers, but I couldn't.
Time dragged on until the door opened once more. This time, three figures entered—strangers in white lab coats and masks. The supposed "doctors." Their faces hidden, their voices cold.
"Can you lend us your hand?" one asked.
Every instinct told me not to trust them, but I forced myself to comply. A needle pricked my skin, pulling blood for "tests." They checked my eyes, my reflexes, my breathing. Then came the question:
"Can you walk?"
I hesitated, then nodded.
"Please demonstrate."
Slowly, painfully, I forced myself out of bed. My legs trembled like they didn't belong to me. Each step was agony, but I kept going, refusing to collapse. By the time I reached the far wall, sweat dripped down my temples, and my lungs burned.
They caught me before I fell, guiding me back to the bed.
"How do you feel?"
"Every step hurts," I admitted. "I get exhausted too quickly… and I have panic attacks. Often."
They scribbled notes, then put me through light exercises. Every movement felt like knives cutting through my body, but I endured.
When they were finished, one of them asked, "Do you need anything else?"
That was my chance. My throat tightened, but I forced the words out. "Can I… call my parents?"
The room fell silent. The three figures froze, glancing at one another, then turned away. Without a single word, they packed up their equipment and walked to the door.
"Please—just one call!" My voice cracked, desperate.
They didn't even look back.
The door clicked shut, sealing me back into silence. My body trembled as I curled into the thin blanket. Tears spilled down my cheeks, soaking the pillow as sobs racked through me.
For the first time, I let myself break.
I cried until my chest hurt, until my throat was raw, until I could barely breathe. My mind swirled with the faces of my friends, with the warmth of my parents, with everything I had lost.
Alone in that sterile room, I felt smaller than ever. Trapped. Helpless. Forgotten.
After a few days, the doctors kept coming, checking on me every morning, every evening—recording, testing, scribbling notes I could never see. They said my recovery was remarkable, faster than expected. My muscles strengthened, the pain in my chest and arms faded, and soon I could stand, walk, and even jog across the room without collapsing. To them, it was progress. To me, it was chain tightening.
Every time I tried to gather the courage to ask about my parents, the words stuck in my throat. When they did escape, trembling out of me, the doctors ignored it, their masks revealing nothing. They just turned away, as if my question didn't even exist. And every time, I felt smaller. More helpless.
Katara had left a few days ago too. She hadn't come back to talk to me, and I hated myself for noticing. For waiting. I told myself I didn't care, that her cheerful smile and soft voice meant nothing—but at night, when the silence pressed down on me, I realized I missed it. I missed anything that made this place feel less like a prison.
And still, every time I closed my eyes, I saw my friends. Carm, Jela, Chris, Mia, Andrea. Their faces, their laughter. Their screams. I remembered the warmth of their bodies in my arms as the explosion swallowed us. I was supposed to die with them. So why was I the only one breathing?
As the doctors pushed me harder with exercises, praising how quickly my strength returned, the thought became sharper, louder, impossible to silence:
I have to get out of here.
It no longer mattered if they were the government, scientists, or something else entirely. They weren't telling me the truth. They weren't letting me live. And if I stayed here, I would lose what little of myself I had left.
So, as days passed and my legs grew steady beneath me, I made my decision.
I would escape.
That night, the silence in my room was unbearable. My chest ached with every breath, and my thoughts wouldn't stop circling—my parents, my friends, their voices haunting me. I couldn't take it anymore.
If I stay here, I'll go insane.
I slid off the bed, forcing my weak legs to carry me. My hands trembled as I turned the doorknob, but to my surprise, it clicked open.
The hallway stretched ahead—cold, white, endless. My heart hammered, but I pushed forward, one step at a time. When I heard footsteps, I ducked into the shadows, pressing myself flat against the wall until they faded. My whole body shook, but the thought of freedom pushed me on.
Then, up ahead, I saw it: a faint red glow. An exit sign.
I almost smiled. Just a little further—
The moment I broke into a run, a shrill alarm blared overhead. The sound stabbed through my ears, and the entire corridor lit with flashing red lights.
No… no, no, no!
Doors burst open on either side as masked doctors and guards poured out. The calm white halls twisted into chaos—shouting, heavy boots pounding, orders flying. The whole base was in panic mode.
I ducked under a tray that clattered to the floor and bolted down a side passage. My legs screamed in pain, but I forced them to move. Everywhere I turned, more people were rushing past, blocking my way out.
I pressed myself into the corner of a hallway, breathing hard, waiting for them to pass. When I finally stepped out, I collided with someone—hard.
I stumbled back, my heart in my throat.
Katara.
Her short hair was messy, her sleeveless shirt stained with sweat, but her sharp eyes locked onto me instantly. For once, she wasn't smiling.
"Lena," she said, catching me before I could fall. "What are you doing here?"
Her voice was calm, but the storm of alarms and chaos around us made her words feel heavier than ever.
As Katara saw me, she froze mid-step. For a moment her sharp eyes softened, and her shoulders dropped as if a weight had been lifted. Relief washed across her face like she had just found something she'd been desperately searching for.
Then her watch let out a piercing beep. She lifted her wrist and spoke into it quickly, her voice low but steady:
"Everything's okay. I've found her."
Almost instantly, the alarm ringing through the halls cut off. The flashing red lights blinked away, and the once frantic guards and doctors stopped running, their footsteps fading as they calmly returned to their rooms. The base swallowed itself back into silence—unnerving, almost too sudden.
Katara and I were left standing there in the middle of the corridor, the only sound was my uneven breathing. She just stood there, watching me, her eyes unreadable. Then, with a soft smile, she finally broke the silence.
"Long time no see, Lena. Sorry I haven't visited you for a while. I was… busy." Her voice held a strange warmth, but I could feel the distance in it too. She tilted her head, her smile growing. "I see you're stronger now. Strong enough to run."
Her words scraped against the raw edge of my chest, and the desperation that had been choking me all this time finally burst out.
"Get me out of here!" I shouted, my voice cracking, the fear and frustration twisting every syllable. "Please—just get me out of here!"
But Katara only shook her head, her smile fading into something heavier, sadder.
"Sorry, Lena," she said softly, "I can't just let you out of here… not with your powers."
Her words stabbed through me, leaving me frozen. Powers? The same thing she had mentioned before. The thing I had denied, over and over.
And yet… the way she said it—her tone, her hesitation—I could feel it. She was hiding something from me.