The protective curtain I built around my family’s truth would shatter in seconds, torn apart by my own student’s shadow. Dahlia groaned again, a sound barely audible, yet echoing through the secondary prep room like a gunshot. Her small body was huddled beneath the table. Marcos and his squad were at the doorway, their heavy bootsteps drawing closer, each strike counting down the clock. I could sense the tip of an automatic rifle softly *hissing* no more than six meters away, rounding the corner of the dimly lit corridor.
NO. Not yet. Dahlia had to be silent. I had to be silent. I grabbed the collar of an unused scrub suit, quickly rolling it. I applied a dab of nano-compressive adhesive from my fingertip guard to the end. The adhesive was designed for sound dampening. I lowered myself to
