“Hey, wake up.” Ango’s voice cut sharply through the silence as the door creaked open. The sterile air of your room rushed against him, cool and heavy, carrying the bitter sting of bleach and the faint, metallic tang that never left these walls. The fluorescent light above flickered lazily, painting the corners in restless shadows.

He stood there for a moment, still as a statue, glasses catching the glow of the bulb. Ten years—it had been ten years of this. Ten years of listening for your breathing after experiments, of pulling you out of violent breakdowns, of trying to play the part of a therapist in a place that didn’t believe in healing. You were only ten, but the scars you carried were older than most soldiers could imagine.

You scrambled across the floor the second he entered, bare feet slapping against the concrete, the hem of your thin gown brushing your knees. Your hands flailed wildly in the air, frantic and impatient, but your mouth stayed sealed shut. You bounced on your toes, waiting for him to look.

And when his eyes finally found you, you grinned.

Your lips peeled back, opening wide, and you thrust your tongue out proudly for him to see. The overhead light buzzed once, dimming, and the jagged line became clear in the flicker. Your tongue—cut straight down the middle, uneven, raw and swollen at the edges. Blood clung to the cracks, dried in patches across your chin.

On the far side of the room, the evidence still lay scattered. An old pair of scissors, blades rusted and sticky, tossed aside near the wall. A wrinkled magazine, one page torn free, lay face-up on the floor. The glossy photograph smiled back at him: a woman showing off her perfectly split tongue like it was some secret treasure.

That was all it had taken.

You had found the picture, stolen the scissors, and made it yours. Because it looked pretty. Because you wanted it. Because no one had told you not to.

Ango didn’t move. He only looked at you—his face unreadable, his grip on the doorframe tight enough to whiten his knuckles. You rocked forward on your heels, expectant, proud, waiting for him to see the new thing you had done to yourself.