Noah didn't wake up in his kennel. There was no scratchy carpet, no smell of synthetic tuna. Instead, he floated into consciousness on a cloud of lavender and expensive perfume.
He opened his eyes. The ceiling was draped in velvet. Soft, ambient music played from hidden speakers—a purring cello melody that vibrated in his bones, loosening the tension in his muscles.
"Shhh. Easy now, soldier."
He tried to sit up, but his body felt heavy, liquid, as if his bones had been replaced with warm honey. He was lying on a chaise lounge in a room that looked like a cross between a therapist's office and a boudoir.
"Where...?" Noah croaked. His throat felt raw, as if he had been screaming for hours.
"You gave us quite a scare," a voice purred.
Catherine was sitting next to him, perched on a velvet stool. She wasn't wearing her nurse's uniform, nor the pristine white dress from the beach. She was wrapped in a silk robe the color of midnight, holding a glass of milk. Her green eyes were soft, filled with a terrifying amount of empathy.
"Running into the White Zone?" she scolded gently, stroking his sweat-dampened forehead with a manicured paw. "Trying to steal medical equipment? Mr. Purr-sident is very disappointed. But I told him you were just confused. I told him the pressure was too much."
Noah squeezed his eyes shut. The image of the oxygen mask flashed behind his lids. The beep-beep-beep of the monitor. The way Katy had fought him, her tiny hands pushing him away.
"I failed," Noah whispered, the shame burning hotter than the fever. "I tried to help her. She was scared of me."
"You didn't fail, sweetie," Catherine soothed, lifting his head to offer him a sip of milk. "You just tried to lift something too heavy. That mask... it carries a lot of weight, Noah. Too much weight for one pet to carry."
Noah drank. The milk was cool and sweet, coating his raw throat. But it didn't wash away the memory.
"I saw her," Noah sobbed, his composure shattering. "She was dying. And I couldn't breathe. Why couldn't I breathe?"
"Because you're holding your breath, Noah. You've been holding your breath for five years."
Catherine reached into the pocket of her robe. The sound of crinkling plastic filled the quiet room.
"You're hurting. I can see it. It's eating you alive, hollowing you out like a pumpkin." She held out a pink pill, identical to the one on the beach. "You don't have to feel this. You can just... float. You can be a good boy, a happy boy, and let us take care of the rest."
Noah looked at the candy. He knew, with a fading spark of clarity, that it was poison. It was amnesia. It was the death of Noah and the rebirth of Subject 42.
But the pain in his chest was unbearable. It was a physical weight, crushing his lungs. He wanted to stop seeing Katy's terrified eyes. He wanted to stop hearing the robotic voice of the Vet-Guards.
"Will it make the beeping stop?" Noah asked, his voice trembling.
"It will make everything stop," Catherine promised. "No more pain. No more guilt. Just sunshine and naps."
"Please," Noah whispered, opening his mouth. "Make it stop."
She placed the pill on his tongue. It dissolved instantly, tasting of strawberries and surrender.
"Good boy," Catherine purred, her voice drifting away as Noah sank back into the pillows. The darkness that came for him this time wasn't scary. It was warm. It was welcome.