The water hit his back like blunt nails.
Hernan stood under the cold stream, skin tight with gooseflesh, muscles locked. Eyes closed. Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above, casting sterile shadows over tile. Steam curled along the far wall — but not from his side. He hadn't touched the heat dial. He didn't want warm. He wanted clean. He wanted cold.
The moment Gemini said Solaris's name, something inside him had shifted. Not shattered — he didn't break anymore — but tilted. Off-balance. Like a hidden foundation stone had been nudged, just enough to throw gravity sideways.
His breath came slow. Measured.
One. Two. Three. Inhale. One. Two. Three. Exhale.
It was supposed to help. It usually did.
But her voice wouldn't leave his head. The way it cracked. The guilt. The weakness. She said she remembered Solaris's face. Said he tried to protect her. Called her beautiful. The irony of that almost made Hernan laugh.
