Her hands were shaking again...not violently, just that quiet, uncontrollable tremble that starts in the fingertips and spreads when you try too hard to stay coposed.
She curled them into fists, pressing her nails more hard into the palm this time.
The sting didn't make her wince.
It helped — just enough to remind her she was still here. Still real.
Her breath came shallow.
Controlled. Too controlled.
She hadn't cried. Not really.
She couldn't.
Not when everything inside her felt like it was barely holding shape — like a glass too full and one breath away from spilling.
She sat there, fists clenched, heart thudding against bone like it wanted out.
Like it wanted answers.
Like it didn't believe what her brain was trying to say — that it was over.
But it wasn't.
The silence that followed her out of Room 308 didn't feel empty.
It felt like it was listening.
She had walked straight past the blinking sensors, past the strange hum in the vents, down the corridor that suddenly didn't feel like hers.
No one stopped her.
No one asked.
Even the system seemed to look away.
She was not aware how she made it back to her room.
She didn't even turn on the lights.
Didn't check the time.
Just sank onto the edge of her bed like she didn't fully trust the ground.
There was a crack in her chest.
Not physical. Not clean.
Something quieter — like a seam splitting inward, slowly, without noise or drama.
It was the video.
Zayaan's voice.
The way it didn't sound like a voice at all — more like something unraveling.
"Please. You said it wouldn't be me this time."
That line looped in her head, like a hook she couldn't pull out.
And the voice that answered — soft, tired, resigned —
"We all take our turn."
She didn't know what that meant.
Didn't want to know.
But a small part of her, curled up in the back of her skull, already did.
They weren't watching for nothing.
The Observers weren't just collecting data.
They were choosing.
And Room 308 wasn't an archive.
It was a mirror. A warning. A scar.
Arwa brought her knees up to her chest... and wrapped her arms around them, forehead pressing into the warmth of her own skin like she could hide there.
A beat passed.
Then another.
Then—
A knock.
Soft.
Three taps.
Measured. Like whoever was on the other side already knew she was awake.
She didn't move.
Didn't answer.
Didn't breathe.
But a paper slid under the door.
Black.
Again.
She stared at it.
The last one had told her when to go.
This one might tell her why.
But her body stayed frozen.
Because some part of her — the same part that felt the tremble starting again in her fingers — already knew:
Whatever this was...
it was far from over.