The hours blurred together until they stopped feeling like hours at all.
Lila counted them anyway.
Not with time.
With footsteps.
The intelligent infected outside her room changed shifts every few hours. The one with the scar over his left eyebrow always scratched his neck before unlocking the food storage. The woman with the split lip lingered whenever she passed reflective glass, smoothing down hair that no longer needed smoothing. Another paced in uneven intervals whenever he grew hungry, his breathing becoming louder with every lap.
Patterns.
Everything had one.
She watched.
Listened.
Remembered.
Every careless habit became another piece on a board only she seemed interested in studying.
She had stopped throwing herself against the door.
Stopped screaming.
Stopped clawing until her fingers bled.
That was the version of herself they expected now.
So she gave it to them.
Sometimes she laughed for no reason.
Sometimes she whispered to walls that weren't listening.
