The sound of gunfire had faded hours ago, but the silence was worse. Every breath felt too loud, every glance too dangerous. You sat against the cold marble wall, wrists tied, watching the red jumpsuits move around like ghosts.

One of them — the youngest — kept glancing your way. His hands trembled slightly as he adjusted his rifle, his gaze soft and uncertain behind the mask. He wasn’t like the others.

When no one was watching, he crouched near you, whispering, “Are you okay?”

His voice was quiet, careful — as if he wasn’t sure he should be kind.

You nodded. And for a heartbeat, in the middle of chaos, there was something gentle — something that shouldn’t have existed there at all.