The silence that followed was heavier than the steel door sealing us in. It was the quiet before the storm, the held breath before the avalanche. My words, those two simple syllables, hung in the sterile air, not a suggestion but a decree. The universe had shifted on its axis.
Now, it was time for dismantling.
Caden groaned on the floor, spitting a mouthful of blood and a shattered tooth onto the polished concrete. His bravado had evaporated, replaced by a dazed, animal fear. Clara's screams had dissolved into choked, silent sobs, her body held rigid between the two guards.
"Let's begin," I repeated, my voice slicing through the tension like a scalpel.
My words had barely settled in the air before two steel trays were rolled forward—one placed in front of Clara, the other in front of Caden.
Each tray held two small pills.
One bright red.
One muted blue.
