Time didn't move the way it used to.
There were no windows here. No changes in light to mark the passing hours. No way to tell whether the silence meant early morning or deep night. Even the air felt suspended, stale in a way that suggested it had been recycled too many times to remember what outside smelled like.
Sera sat crouched over where she had been placed, her back pressed against cold metal, and her hands folded loosely in her lap.
The floor beneath her was smooth, almost polished, but carried the faint tackiness of something that had been cleaned too often with too little water. The smell was not unpleasant, exactly. Just wrong. Antiseptic layered over rot. Chemical sharpness trying to erase the truth underneath.
She did not move.
She did not need to.
Movement drew attention, and attention was expensive.
