The room smelled like disinfectant and wet concrete.

  Not clean. Just treated.

  Taylor lay on the gurney under a thin thermal sheet that did very little. His shoes were still on. One lace had come loose and trailed against the floor, darkened by water and dust.

  Kam stood at the foot of the bed.

  He didn’t touch him.

  A medic spoke quietly to another medic near the wall. Their voices were calm, professional, already turning toward the next task. One of them glanced at Kam, then looked away again, as if he were furniture that had already been catalogued.

  Maya sat in a plastic chair against the far wall, arms folded tight around herself. She wasn’t crying. She looked hollowed out, like something had scooped her from the inside and left the shell standing.

  Leo stood beside her.

  He kept checking his wrist out of habit, even though the display was blank now. Fried by interference. He hadn’t noticed yet that he’d stopped trying to fix it.

  A third medic approached Kam.

  She didn’t look nervous.

  That was new.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, evenly. “We did everything available on-site.”

  Kam nodded once.

  No argument. No disbelief. No bargaining.

  She hesitated, then continued, “Time of death was approximately seven minutes ago.”

  Seven minutes.

  Kam stored the number without attaching anything to it.

  “There’ll be a formal report,” she added. “You don’t need to stay if you don’t want to.”

  Kam looked at Taylor’s face.

  Peaceful wasn’t the word. Still wasn’t either. It was the look of something that had stopped being asked to continue.

  “I’ll stay,” Kam said.

  The medic nodded and stepped away.

  No one told him to move back.

  No one asked him to put his hands where they could see them.

  No one watched his temperature.

  That absence pressed heavier than restraints ever had.

  ---

  They moved Taylor later.

  Not ceremonially. Efficiently.

  Two attendants lifted the gurney and wheeled it toward a secondary corridor marked STAFF ONLY. The door opened before they reached it.

  Kam followed until the threshold.

  The attendant paused, waiting for instruction that didn’t come.

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  Kam stopped on his own.

  The door closed.

  The hallway went quiet again.

  Maya stood abruptly, chair legs screeching against the floor. She took two steps, then stopped, as if she’d forgotten where she was going.

  “He was fine this morning,” she said, voice raw. “He complained about the coffee. He—”

  Her voice broke.

  Leo reached for her, then pulled his hand back. He didn’t know if he was allowed.

  Kam stayed where he was.

  He couldn’t cross the distance between them. Not now. Not without heat, and that was gone.

  “I should have...” Maya started.

  “No,” Leo said quickly. “No, don’t.”

  She laughed once, sharp and empty. “Don’t what? Don’t say it out loud?”

  Leo didn’t answer.

  Kam finally spoke.

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  The words sounded correct. They landed wrong.

  Maya looked at him then.

  Not angry.

  Not accusing.

  Just… searching.

  “Then whose was it?” she asked.

  Kam didn’t have an answer that survived the room.

  Maya nodded slowly, like she’d expected that.

  “I need air,” she said.

  She walked past Kam without touching him.

  The door opened for her. Closed behind her.

  Leo stayed.

  For a moment longer.

  ---

  A man in a grey jacket entered the room, holding a clipboard that looked older than everything else here.

  “Kamran Hale,” he said.

  Kam turned.

  The man didn’t flinch.

  “Just a few administrative things,” he said. “We’ll keep it brief.”

  He gestured toward the door Maya had used. “You’re clear to leave whenever you’re ready. No restrictions.”

  Kam waited.

  The man blinked, then continued, slightly off-balance now. “There’ll be follow-up contact regarding… services. If you want them.”

  Kam shook his head.

  “Alright,” the man said, relieved. “Then— that’s it.”

  He hesitated. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Kam nodded.

  The man left.

  The door shut.

  Leo looked at Kam.

  “They’re letting you go,” he said quietly.

  Kam said nothing.

  “They’re not even—” Leo stopped himself. He exhaled. “They’re done.”

  Kam looked at his hands.

  No shimmer.

  No hum.

  No pressure waiting to be shaped.

  Just hands.

  “I think,” Leo said carefully, “I won’t be around after today.”

  Kam looked up.

  Leo swallowed. “They’re moving me. Temporarily. That’s what they called it.”

  “Where?”

  Leo shook his head. “Didn’t say.”

  Kam nodded.

  “Kam,” Leo said. “Listen to me.”

  Kam waited.

  “This is how they handle things that don’t escalate anymore,” Leo said. “They don’t contain them. They separate them.”

  Kam understood that.

  “Take care of yourself,” Leo said, then winced. “I mean—”

  “I know,” Kam said.

  Leo nodded, relieved, and left before he could say anything else that wouldn’t help.

  ---

  Kam was alone in the room again.

  He stood there for a while after everyone else was gone.

  Then he turned off the light.

  The room smelled like disinfectant and wet concrete.

  Not clean. Just treated.

  Taylor lay on the gurney under a thin thermal sheet that did little against the cold. His shoes were still on. One lace had come loose and trailed against the floor, darkened by water and dust.

  Kam stood at the foot of the bed. He didn't touch him.

  A medic spoke quietly to another near the wall. Their voices were calm, professional, already turning toward the next task. One of them glanced at Kam, then looked away, as if he were furniture already catalogued.

  Maya sat in a plastic chair against the far wall, arms folded tight around herself. She wasn't crying. She looked hollow, like something had scooped her from the inside and left the shell standing.

  Leo stood beside her. He kept checking his wrist out of habit, even though the display was blank now. Fried by interference. He hadn't noticed yet that he'd stopped trying to fix it.

  A third medic approached Kam. She didn't look nervous.

  That was different.

  "I'm sorry," she said evenly. "We did everything available on-site."

  Kam nodded once. No argument. No disbelief. No bargaining.

  She hesitated, then continued, "Time of death was approximately seven minutes ago."

  Seven minutes.

  Kam stored the number without attaching anything to it.

  "There'll be a formal report," she added. "You don't need to stay if you don't want to."

  Kam looked at Taylor's face. Peaceful wasn't the word. Still wasn't either. It was the look of something that had stopped being asked to continue.

  "I'll stay," Kam said.

  The medic nodded and stepped away.

  No one told him to move back. No one asked him to put his hands where they could see them. No one watched his temperature.

  That absence pressed harder than restraints ever had.

  ---

  They moved Taylor later. Not ceremonially. Efficiently.

  Two attendants lifted the gurney and wheeled it toward a secondary corridor marked STAFF ONLY. The door clicked open as they approached.

  Kam followed to the threshold.

  The attendant paused, waiting for instruction that didn't come.

  Kam stopped on his own.

  The door closed. The hallway went quiet again.

  Maya stood abruptly, chair legs screeching against the floor. She took two steps, then stopped, as if she'd forgotten where she was going.

  "He was fine this morning," she said, voice raw. "He complained about the coffee. He—"

  Her voice broke.

  Leo reached for her, then pulled his hand back. He didn't know if he was allowed.

  Kam stayed where he was. He couldn't cross the distance between them. Not now. Not without heat, and that was gone.

  "I should have..." Maya started.

  "No," Leo said quickly. "No, don't."

  She laughed once, sharp and empty. "Don't what? Don't say it out loud?"

  Leo didn't answer.

  Kam finally spoke. "It wasn't your fault."

  The words sounded correct. They landed wrong.

  Maya looked at him. Not angry. Not accusing. Just searching.

  Kam's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

  "Then whose was it?" she asked.

  Kam didn't have an answer that survived the room.

  Maya nodded slowly, like she'd expected that.

  "I need air," she said.

  She walked past Kam without touching him. The door opened for her. Closed behind her.

  Leo stayed. For a moment longer.

  ---

  A man in a grey jacket entered the room, holding a clipboard that looked older than everything else here.

  "Kamran Hale," he said.

  Kam turned.

  The man didn't flinch.

  "Just some administrative details," he said. "We'll keep it brief."

  He gestured toward the door Maya had used. "You're clear to leave whenever you're ready. No restrictions."

  Kam waited.

  The man blinked, then continued, slightly off-balance now. "There'll be follow-up contact regarding services. If you want them."

  Kam shook his head.

  "Alright," the man said, relieved. "Then—that's it."

  He hesitated. "I'm sorry for your loss."

  Kam nodded.

  The man left. The door shut.

  Leo looked at Kam. "They're letting you go," he said quietly.

  Kam said nothing.

  "They're not even—" Leo stopped himself. He exhaled. "They're done."

  Kam looked at his hands. No shimmer. No hum. No pressure waiting to be shaped.

  Just hands.

  "I think," Leo said carefully, "I won't be around after today."

  Kam looked up.

  Leo swallowed. "They're moving me. Temporarily. That's what they called it."

  "Where?"

  Leo shook his head. "Didn't say."

  Kam nodded.

  "Kam," Leo said. "Listen to me."

  Kam waited.

  "This is how they handle things that don't escalate anymore," Leo said. "They don't contain them. They separate them."

  Kam understood that.

  "Take care of yourself," Leo said, then winced. "I mean—"

  "I know," Kam said.

  Leo nodded, relieved, and left before he could say anything else that wouldn't help.

  ---

  Kam was alone in the room again.

  He stood there for a while after everyone else was gone, hands still at his sides, staring at the empty space where the gurney had been.

  Then he turned off the light.