#Chapter 197: Containment and Denial

Richard I didn’t speak as Simon and Nathan helped carry Amelia’s unconscious body to the containment wing. I didn’t look at the blood still drying on my skin, or the bent metal frame of the bed, or the trail she’d left in her short rampage before the sedative had taken hold. I just walked, one step behind the gurney, my jaw locked and my shoulders squared, like I could fix this by standing taller, like holding my body steady would make the rest of it follow. The silence between us wasn’t just procedural. It was the kind that forms around guilt, fear, and the knowledge that none of us could take back what had already been done. Simon kept glancing at me with a clinical watchfulness that made it hard to breathe. Nathan didn’t look at me at all. His silence was louder than any argument he could’ve made. He’d already made his stance clear: this wasn’t protection, it was cowardice wearing the costume of hope. “Secure the eastern cell,” I said, and my voice came out low and firm, tho