The council believed silence was mercy. They dressed it in soft lighting, measured voices, and clean corridors that smelled faintly of antiseptic and flowers. They called it stabilization. They called it protection. They told me I was safe now, that the chaos outside these walls was being handled, contained, corrected. What they didn’t understand was that silence can sharpen a person. It gives you time to think. I learned the facility’s rhythm quickly. Morning assessments disguised as wellness checks. Nutrient-dense meals calibrated to my pregnancy. Controlled walks through indoor gardens where the air was too perfect to be real. Every interaction followed a script, and every script had gaps. I watched those gaps. Dr. Kovač came daily. She asked about my sleep, my stress levels, the twins’
