After leaving the room, Alex made his way back toward the hall.
He stopped at the entrance.
The atmosphere felt still, as if the air itself was waiting for him. Nyxara remained perched silently on his shoulder, tail swaying gently behind his neck.
Alex took in a deep breath, then stepped inside.
But the first place his gaze fell wasn't on the imposing central monitor that loomed over the far wall with its sterile glow. No, it was drawn instead to the tub—the very same one where the harrowing operation had transpired. That wretched, cursed vessel of memories.
Most individuals would go to great lengths to avert their eyes from the roots of their suffering. They would bury those memories deep within, securing them in a vault of denial, desperately refusing to confront the echoes of their pain.
