POV: Alex
Mia didn’t speak for two days.
After we brought her and the others back to Darkhaven, she barely left the infirmary. The kids were quarantined, evaluated, fed, and sedated—carefully, gently. Most of them had never spoken more than two sentences. They didn’t know how to accept kindness. Every meal placed in front of them was met with suspicion. Every soft touch made them flinch.
They had survived the lab, yes.
But they weren’t free of it.
Not yet.
And neither was Mia.
She sat at Chito’s bedside, day and night, holding his hand. He was stable now—barely. A punctured lung, two cracked ribs, low blood oxygen. But he was alive. That was enough.
She didn’t cry.
She didn’t scream.
But her silence said everything.
And then, on the third morning, she stood up, walked into the c
