My knees hit the cold tile floor with a dull thud.
The world spun.
I couldn't breathe.
It felt like the walls were tilting, like gravity itself was trying to pull me into the earth and bury me beneath it.
"No," I whispered. "No… not him."
But the doctor didn't stop.
He didn't pause, didn't soften. His words kept coming, like knives to the chest.
"Eleven are confirmed dead," he said quietly. "Six of them were dead on arrival. The rest succumbed to their injuries within the hour. The boy… Callum… he held on the longest."
Eleven.
I had led twenty-seven ferals into that protest. And now… almost half of them were gone. Gone because they dared to speak. Because they dared to follow me.
I looked up at the doctor with hollow eyes. My voice was barely audible. "I want to see them."
He nodded and gestured for me to follow.
