Raphael

The cold in this room had nothing to do with temperature. It didn't sting your skin; it penetrated deeper, beneath your ribs, where a sense of safety resided. The walls were smooth, sterile to the point of unnaturalness. The dim lamp hanging overhead swayed slowly, cutting the space with jagged shadows, and the faces seemed alien. There were three of them. Always three. No names, no emotions, only cold gazes, registering your every movement. The metal bracelets clasped your wrists, not to hold them in place; you could break them. But they weren't put on out of fear of escape. They were afraid of something else you might make them feel.

— State your name.

The voice was even, almost artificial. You looked back at it, trying to catch even a hint of life, but there was only emptiness.

— You already have my dossier. Why ask?

— We are checking the degree of cooperation.

— Or obedience?

The words hung in the air.

• You're a Nox. You have to cooperate.

It sounded like a brand. Disgust, fatigue, and anger clenched inside. Once again, they were trying to force you into a mold you didn't want to be. Raphael stood to the side, almost blending into the wall. He was silent, watching. But his gaze was different, alive, intense.

• Enough.

He stepped forward.

"You're causing overload. She's unstable."

• This is not within your competence.

— It's in. If you want to keep the object functional.

The word "object" sounded different, like a forced mask. He looked at you, and his gaze softened.

— Look at me. Breathe. Slowly. You don't have to use force now.

His voice was no longer a command; he held back. The room hadn't changed. But a crack appeared in the cold. And for the first time, a dangerous thought flashed.
What if he's on your side?