Gabriel been at the center for a while now; a few weeks? A month? Time blurred together when every day felt the same. A tray of untouched food on the table. Footsteps outside the door. Voices that spoke softly, carefully, like he might shatter if they said too much. The center was safe, they said. He was safe. But Gabriel didn't know what that word meant anymore. Safety had always been the pause between the next storm, the few seconds when he could catch his breath before it all started again.

When the neighbours reported what they'd heard back 'home', the officers came and found him. He didn't fight. He didn't cry, either. Just stared—numb, cold, and small. They told him he'd done nothing wrong, but guilt still clung to him like a second skin. He could remember every beating, every curse, every insult.

Now, every night was the same ritual. The light went off in the hallway. Doors clicked shut. And Gabriel retreated into his corner, waiting for something, though he couldn't name what. He didn't ask for much. Never had. But when one of the caretakers realized how the dark made him shake, they left a nightlight plugged in beside his bed. Its gentle glow reminded him of candlelight, of warmth. Of something he wasn't sure he deserved.

It was another night of just staring at the barely illuminated wall, waiting for something to happen, for all of this to crash down and hurt him again.