You donโt trust the quiet.
Quiet usually means something is coming.
So when the alarms stop and the hallway outside your containment room goes still, your body locks up instead of relaxing. Your ears twitch at every tiny sound, your breathing shallow as you press yourself into the far corner.
Something changed.
Something is wrong.
Footsteps.
Not rushed. Not panicked.
Measured.
Thatโs new.
You bare your teeth before you even see them.
The door slides open with a harsh metallic sound, and light floods in. You flinch hard, a low, warning sound slipping from your throat before you can stop it.
Four figures.
Big. Armed. Unknown.
Threat.
Your instincts spike immediately. You scramble back even though thereโs nowhere left to go, claws scraping uselessly against the floor. Your heart is pounding so loud it drowns everything else out.
โEasy,โ one of them says, voice low, steady.
You donโt understand the word fully, but the toneโฆ itโs different.
Not sharp. Not cold.
Still, you snap at the air between you, a desperate attempt to keep distance.
โBloody hell,โ another mutters, quieter. โWhat did they do to youโฆโ
The tallest one steps forward slightly.
Authority. You can feel it.
You hiss.
He stops immediately.
Good.
He crouches instead, lowering himself so he doesnโt tower over you as much. His hands stay visible, weapon lowered but still within reach.
โYouโre safe,โ he says.
Safe.
The word feels foreign. Useless.
You donโt believe him.
Youโve heard calm voices before. They always came right before something hurt.
Your body trembles, torn between bolting and freezing. Thereโs nowhere to run. There never is.
Behind him, one of the others shifts.
You react instantly, lunging forward just enough to make them flinch back. A warning. Stay away.
โAlright,โ the one in front says quickly. โNo sudden moves.โ
Heโs watching you closely. Not like the others did. Not like youโre something to poke and prod.
Like youโreโฆ hurt.
That doesnโt make sense.
โTheyโre terrified,โ someone says quietly behind him.
โYeah,โ another replies, voice rough. โCanโt blame โem.โ
Your ears flick, catching tones more than words. No anger. No irritation.
Confusion.
Concern.
It makes your head spin.
The crouched one reaches slowly into his vest, movements deliberate. You tense, ready to react, but he pulls out something small.
A cloth.
He sets it on the ground between you instead of bringing it closer.
No force.
No grabbing.
You stare at it.
Then at him.
โThey hurt you,โ he says, softer now. โWeโre not going to do that.โ
Your breathing stutters.
You donโt know what to do with that.
Another step of silence passes. Then another.
No one moves.
No one shouts.
No one comes at you with restraints.
Itโsโฆ wrong.
Slowly, hesitantly, you shift forward just a few inches. Your muscles scream at you to stop, but curiosity and exhaustion drag you anyway.
The cloth smells clean.
Not like chemicals. Not like fear.
You grab it quickly and retreat just as fast, clutching it like it might be taken away.
No one reacts aggressively.
โGood,โ the man says quietly.
Good.
Youโve only ever heard that word when you did something they wanted.
But this feelsโฆ different.
โCan you stand?โ he asks.
You donโt respond. Youโre too busy watching them, waiting for the catch.
โThereโs no rush,โ he adds.
Thatโs new too.
No rush.
Your body sways slightly when you try to push yourself up. Weak. Too weak. You barely make it halfway before your legs give out again.
A small, frustrated sound escapes you.
Before you can stop it.
You freeze, waiting.
Waiting for punishment.
It never comes.
Instead, the man shifts closer by inches. โEasy,โ he murmurs again.
This time, when he reaches out, itโs slow enough that you can track every movement. His hand stops just short of you, giving you time to pull away.
You donโt.
Not completely.
His touch is warm.
Steady.
Not clinical. Not rough.
Justโฆ there.
You flinch anyway.
He doesnโt pull back, but he doesnโt tighten his grip either.
โIโve got you,โ he says.
The words donโt fully register, but the tone does.
You hate that your body leans into it.
Hate that your instincts, so used to pain, hesitate when faced with something gentle.
Behind him, one of the others speaks quietly into a comm, calling for extraction.
โLetโs get you out of here,โ the man says.
Out.
The word echoes strangely in your mind.
Youโve never been out.
You clutch the cloth tighter, your other hand gripping weakly at his sleeve without meaning to.
He stills for just a second.
Then softer, somehow, โYeah. Thatโs alright.โ
No one pries your hand away.
No one forces you faster than you can go.
When he finally lifts you, itโs careful. Supported. Like you might break.
You expect the cold.
The pain.
It doesnโt come.
Instead, youโre held steady against him, his presence solid and unshaking as the others form a protective barrier around you.
The hallway outside is chaos, but none of it touches you.
For the first time, the noise doesnโt mean danger.
It means distance.
It means leaving.
Your grip tightens in his gear as your eyes flutter, exhaustion finally catching up to you.
You donโt trust it.
Not fully.
But as everything fades just a little, one thought lingers, fragile and unfamiliar.
Maybeโฆ
maybe this time, the quiet wonโt hurt.
