They came for them one by one.
Boots on concrete, the ring of keys, the hiss of the outer door opening—metal sighing before the locks even caught up.
Dr. Orhan led, coat snapping faintly at the edges, clipboard tucked under one arm. Dr. Davis followed, slower, tablet balanced like a tray, thumb moving in tight, deliberate notes that would decide lives.
Neither one of the scientists spoke.
The row of empty cells watched them pass.
Lachlan leaned against the far wall of his, arms wrapped across his middle like he could hold himself together by sheer grip alone. His skin still carried the blue sheen of fresh regeneration, the seams where new flesh met old faintly luminous under the fluorescents.
Alexei crouched in his own cell, his elbows on his knees, and his eyes tracking the men like a predator memorizing gait and distance. He didn't blink.
