Adrian found it nearly impossible to find rest. Whenever he did manage to slip into slumber, it was far from restorative. It replayed his memories like haunting snippets of an old film looping endlessly in his mind. Images flickered behind his closed eyelids, persistent and unsettling, much like a projector that had become stuck in its cycle. He could hear Elijah’s voice echoing in the stillness of the dark. He could sense the cold, unyielding surface of the observation room. He could feel the sting of the needle and, most jarringly, the piercing sound of that scream. Yet, there was one memory that haunted him above all others.
It was the look on Elijah’s face—the deep, wounded expression that lingered there when the door swung shut, and Adrian chose not to fight to remain. It wasn’t mere
