The low, polite knock on the thick oak door of Room 104 didn't just echo against the wood; it froze the very air inside the recovery suite. The three distinct, electronic clicks of the heavy outer security lock turning on its own meant our small sanctuary was now sealed from the corridor. Behind Sasha’s head, the small copper cylinder was still slowly weeping that thin, bright blue chemical fluid, systematically dissolving the black ink on our boy's birth registry before our helpless eyes.
"Elisha..."
The name left my throat in a dry, ragged gasp that tasted of pure disbelief. The voice from the other side of the heavy panel low, rhythmic, and carrying that slight, upper province drawl belonged to the young surveyor we all believed had been crushed inside the burning metal frame of the D
