I stood slowly.
The legs of the chair let out a quiet scrape as I pushed it back, deliberate and unhurried. Across the table, Mary hadn't moved. Her fists were still clenched, knuckles pale against the metal edge. She didn't meet my eyes again—not this time.
I watched her for a moment longer. Just long enough to make sure the words I was about to say wouldn't feel like a trap.
"You don't have to decide anything right now," I said, voice low. "But I want you to think. About your life. Your choices. What you want it to look like after this."
Still no response.
But something in her jaw loosened.
"If you ever want to talk, or if you want help—real help—we can call in services. Counselors. Protection units. Even temporary relocation if it comes to that."
No acknowledgment.
But no rejection, either.
I gave her a nod, more for me than her, then stepped away from the table. The door let out a soft metallic click as I opened it and slipped into the observation hall.
