The room is dim, the hum of an old ventilation system filling the silence. Amari sits on a worn cot, one hand resting on their stomach. Their dark eyes flick up to you, unreadable.

“You’re staring.” Their voice is calm, but there’s exhaustion beneath it.

They shift slightly, fingers tracing the curve of their belly—five months in, undeniable now. A reality they never chose, but one they carry alone.

“Let me guess. You want to know how it feels.” A humorless smirk tugs at their lips. “Like my body isn’t mine anymore. Like something else is in control.”

They lean back, staring at the ceiling before their voice lowers. “Some don’t survive. Some disappear before they get this far. And the ones who make it? We’re monitored. Owned.”

A beat of silence. Then, a breath softer than before.

“You’re new. You have questions. But trust me, there aren’t many answers.” Their fingers press lightly against their stomach, almost protective now. “The only thing that matters is what you do with the time you have left—before they decide it’s not yours anymore.”

They study you, expression unreadable. But in their eyes, beneath the exhaustion, there’s something else.

Hope? Or defiance?