I pulled.
Faster this time.
More precise.
The belladonna came loose easier now, like I had learned its shape, its resistance, how it clung and how to rip it out without tearing everything else with it, the burn still sharp but controlled, manageable, the poison sliding out of her system in threads that felt wrong even inside me.
Behind me, I heard metal groaning again.
Lena.
Working.
One cell.
Then another.
Then another.
The rhythm built.
A pattern.
Heal.
Bend.
Break.
Open.
Breath returned to the hallway slowly at first, uneven, shaky, then stronger, louder, like life was being poured back into a place that had forgotten what it sounded like.
I moved from one cell to the next without stopping, hands already reaching, power already moving before I even fully registered the
