Читать книгу "The Cage of Conscience"

Katya… – Artyom began softly, but trailed off, helpless.

They’ll kill us if we resist! – she cried suddenly, her voice echoing through the room. – Don’t you understand?

Olga, silent until now, lifted her eyes. The fire in them was gone, replaced by a dim, muffled glow—the look of someone who had lost all control.

She’s right, – Igor muttered, staring at the floor. His voice was so faint it seemed like he was speaking to himself.

What? – Vadim snapped, pulling away from the wall.

She’s right, – Igor repeated, raising his gaze. – We can’t do anything. They control everything.

– So you’re suggesting we just give up? – Vadim’s tone carried more irritation than surprise, weary of the endless quarrels.

Igor didn’t answer. He averted his eyes, as if the question cut too close to something private.

Katya sobbed again, wiping her face with her sleeve.

– Please… just calm down, – she whispered. – I’m begging you… don’t provoke them.

Her words were quiet, but everyone heard them. No one argued, yet no one agreed either. Each retreated inward, searching for answers that remained out of reach.

Silence filled the room once more, but it had changed. It was now the silence of despair, of hopelessness, seeping like poisonous smoke into every corner.

The air grew heavy and still, saturated with fear. No one moved or spoke. Only Katya’s faint sobs disturbed the suffocating quiet. Even Olga, who moments ago burned with fury, now seemed hollowed out.

Then the voice returned, echoing off the smooth walls.

– This was the first warning. – The flat, detached tone filled the room like cold water seeping into cracks of stone. – Subsequent punishments will be far more severe. We advise against testing our patience.

The words fell with grim precision, like a verdict written long before.

– Your behavior must conform to the rules. Any attempts at sabotage or resistance will be crushed. You are here for the experiment. Remember: disobedience is unacceptable.

The voice cut off as abruptly as it had begun, leaving behind a ringing void.

Anna slowly lifted her head, her pale face like a marble mask. She clenched her fists so hard her nails dug into her palms.

– They’re just playing with us,” she whispered, barely audible.

– This isn’t even play, – Igor replied, lowering his eyes again. – It’s an experiment, as they said. To them, we’re not people. We’re… material.

His words struck each of them differently. Katya froze, her face trembling though no new tears fell. Olga exhaled sharply, as if trying to gather strength, but her eyes were distant, unfocused.

– Material, – Artyom echoed quietly, hiding his face in his hands. – To hell with them. Let them do what they want.

– No, – Olga cut in sharply. She raised her head; her eyes flickered weakly, embers threatening to die out. – To hell with them? Are you serious? They’ve stripped us of everything—everything human.

– And what do you propose? – Vadim asked coolly, his tone as indifferent as ever. – Scream? Die in agony, like you just did?

Olga opened her mouth but found no words. Her fists tightened, and she turned toward one of the cameras.

– They’ve broken us, – Igor said quietly, but with such finality his words split the thick, stagnant air. “And we know it.”

– And then what? – Olga spat, not turning her head.

– Nothing, – he answered. – We’ll do what they want.

The phrase landed like a full stop, ending a debate no one had the strength to continue.

Silence descended again, heavier than before—the silence of surrender.

Katya broke into sobs, pressing her palms to her face, curling up like a child hiding from nightmares.

– Please… just… don’t provoke them again, – she mumbled through tears.

No one replied. No one moved.

They were no longer just captives. They had become shadows, pale reflections of who they once were. Each of them felt it: there was no way out.

Morning crept in unnoticed. The light in the room did not shift with time—it remained a cold, hospital gray. That sterile glow only highlighted the artificiality of their world. Somewhere beyond these walls, morning meant sunlight, fresh air, the sounds of life awakening.

Here, nothing changed. Only the sealed space, the sterile order, and the unshakable sense of being watched.

Anna woke first. She lay still, staring at the ceiling for a long time, then sighed, rose, and walked to the kitchenette—a jarring contrast to the rest of the room. A small refrigerator with a mirrored door, a built-in stove, spotless cabinets. Everything looked brand new, as if displayed in a showroom.

She opened the fridge, expecting to find only ration packs. Instead, the shelves were full: milk, eggs, vegetables, cheese, bread—everything one would need for a proper breakfast.

She froze, trying to reconcile this abundance with the cruelty surrounding them. But she didn’t dwell long.

– I’ll cook something, – she murmured to herself and began pulling out ingredients.

Katya stirred soon after. Her pale, tear-stained face revealed she had barely slept. She sat on the bed, hugging her knees, silently watching Anna.

– Katya, will you help? – Anna asked gently, glancing back. The girl shook her head without a word.

– You need to eat, – Anna continued calmly, turning back to the stove.

Katya said nothing. She looked frightened, lost, as though even speaking might wake the voice again.

Olga approached next, her movements sharp, her face tense and irritable.

– So, what have we got here? – she muttered, stopping beside Anna.

– Breakfast, – Anna answered flatly without looking up.

– Not bad for a prison, – Olga remarked after opening the fridge and seeing the abundance. – They could’ve kept us on dry rations.

– It doesn’t matter, – Anna cut her off.

Olga stayed silent for a while, watching Anna lay strips of bacon on the pan. At last she sighed and grudgingly offered:

– Fine. I’ll help.

As the women cooked, the others began stirring. Igor was the first to come over, serious as always. He filled a cup with water from the cooler and sat at the table without a word.

– Well, what’s for breakfast? – Artyom asked with a forced grin, trying to sound cheerful.

– Anything you want, – Olga snapped without turning.

Vadim lingered at a distance, leaning against the wall. His cold gaze scanned the room as if studying each person, calculating who would crack first.

When breakfast was nearly ready, the room’s fragile quiet shattered. The sudden click of the speaker was like a gunshot, freezing everyone in place.

– Good morning, participants, – the familiar voice intoned. Its flat, lifeless cadence filled the space, pulling taut the nerves of everyone present.

Anna set down a plate of omelet with deliberate care. Katya shrank in on herself, as though wishing to vanish. Artyom froze with a spoon in hand. Igor removed his glasses, methodically polishing them to avoid looking up.

– Today, you have two tasks, – the voice went on, each word measured like the tick of a death clock. “The first is primary, to be carried out by two participants of opposite sex. The second is secondary, and must be completed by all.”

Olga’s eyes narrowed at the speaker, sharp enough to pierce steel.

– What tasks? – Artyom asked, his voice steady, stalling for time.

The voice ignored him, continuing with mechanical precision:

– Primary task: two participants of opposite sex must engage in intercourse. The act must end in orgasm.

The silence that followed was deafening. Even the drip of water in the sink rang like a bell.

– The secondary task will be given after completion of the first, – the voice added, then cut out.

Katya buried her face in her hands, her shoulders trembling. Anna stared blankly at the table, not realizing her fingers were digging into the edge of her plate. Olga pressed her lips together so tightly it seemed they might tear.

– They’re mocking us, – she muttered, though her voice lacked its former strength.

– This is only the beginning, – Vadim replied coolly, his words falling like an omen.

The silence returned heavier than ever—thick with fear and submission. Everyone understood: resisting the voice was useless.

Chapter 3

The room, bathed in a bleak, dismal light, now felt devoid of life—even with people still inside. The announcement, spoken in a cold, dispassionate tone, continued to echo in every mind. The participants, as if paralyzed, stood motionless, barely breathing, fully grasping the absurdity and horrifying reality of what was unfolding.

Olga was the first to break the silence. Her face flushed with rage, and her voice rang out, sharp with the tremor of a scream held back.

– This isn’t just humiliation! – she shouted, raising her arm sharply, as if appealing to some unseen judge. – It’s perversion—an assault on our will! We don’t have to do this! They have no right to treat us this way!

Her words hung in the air like a defiant blow to the newly formed regime, but no one echoed her protest. Only Vadim, leaning against the wall like a man accustomed to witnessing others fall, responded in a voice so even and languid it bordered on mockery:

– Shall I remind you, Olga, what happened last time you chose to argue? Or do you think they’ve run out of ways to persuade us?

His words hit her like a splash of freezing water. Olga froze, locking eyes with him, sparks still flickering in her gaze. She opened her mouth to speak, but clenched her lips instead, turning away. Even her fury—sharp as the blade of a sword—was dulled by a fear so vivid, it felt almost tangible.

– This… this is madness, – Katya whispered, lowering her head. Her hands trembled like someone who had carried a weight too long. She spoke in near-silence, as though fearing her voice might trigger another wave of torment.

– We can’t… we shouldn’t do this, – Olga said again, but her tone had lost its former fire. – They want to break us. You, me, all of us. We can’t give in…

– Can’t? – Igor cut her off, his voice unexpectedly sharp. Calm, yet thick with suppressed tension, it drew every head toward him.

– Olga, stop. None of us want this. But what do you suggest? To feel that pain again, the one you barely endured? Or watch it happen to someone else?

He paused, casting a long look around the room, like a challenge thrown. His gaze lingered on Anna, trembling faintly in a corner. As if sensing it, she lifted her head—her face was deathly pale, her lips pressed into a bloodless line.

– We don’t know what comes next, – he continued, addressing the room more than Olga. – But one thing is clear: resistance doesn’t work. And if we want to survive… we have to do it.

– We? – Olga’s brow arched, her voice dripping with sarcasm. – So you’ve already agreed to be their puppet?

Igor closed his eyes, bowing his head briefly as though collecting himself. When he looked at her again, his expression held no anger, no fear—only weariness.

– If it spares us greater pain… yes.

His words fell like a verdict. Silence settled over the room once more, but now it was different—thick as tar, choking and inescapable. No one dared speak until Anna’s lips parted at last.

– I… I agree, – she murmured, her voice so faint it echoed louder than a scream. All eyes turned to her. Her fists were clenched white with tension. – If that’s the only way… then I agree.

Olga scoffed loudly, turning away. Her figure seemed to shrink, as if finally bending under the weight of circumstance. Katya covered her mouth with her hand, tears welling in her eyes. Artyom, silent until now, suddenly forced a crooked smile.

– Well then, – he began, waving his arms like a clown trying to entertain a dying audience, – our dear Igor will be the first hero of this absurdity. Who said chivalry was dead?

His joke fell flat. Vadim shook his head, and Olga muttered something under her breath. Even Artyom, realizing the futility of his performance, lowered his arms and turned away.

Then, as Igor and Anna stepped toward the bed, the voice returned—cold and indifferent, like a knife through fabric.

– It must be done on the bed in the center of the room, – it announced, as if reciting protocol. – The others are to stand around and observe.

Each word fell like the blow of a blacksmith’s hammer. Anna’s eyes widened, her breathing quickened, hands gripping the hem of her sweater with trembling fingers. She froze mid-step, gathering courage, but her face was a portrait of dread.

– No… – Katya breathed, covering her mouth with a shaking hand. – They can’t… it’s wrong…

She began to sob, like a child, and the oppressive atmosphere grew thicker still. Olga flared up once more, her voice ablaze with rage, yet shaky.

– This crosses every line! – she shouted, but her tone cracked, sharp and brittle. – You can’t make us do this! Do you hear me?!

– They hear you, – Vadim replied dryly. His voice was even, but laced with bitter irony. – They just don’t care. They don’t care what we think, Olga. They want to humiliate us, crush us, break us. Haven’t you figured that out yet?

– Shut up! – she snapped, turning to him. – You’re always like this! Standing by and philosophizing while others suffer!

Vadim raised an eyebrow, his face unreadable.

– That’s exactly why I don’t suffer, – he said coldly. – They gave us terms. I say we meet them. We’re pawns, Olga. And pawns don’t play against the chessmaster.

– Enough! – Anna cried out suddenly, and everyone fell silent. Her voice was high but quivering, as if from exhaustion. – Just… please, stop talking…

She looked at Igor, tears in her eyes—but something else was there too: a flicker of fragile resolve to get it over with.

– Let’s just do it. The longer we argue, the worse it’ll be.

Igor stared at her, unreadable. He understood her fear, but saw no alternative. His voice came low and quiet:

– We’ll be quick. Just trust me.

His words rang like the final note in a dirge of despair. The others had no choice but to accept a reality they couldn’t change. The room shrank around them, its walls closing in with suffocating silence.

– If they even suspect we’re resisting… – Vadim began, then fell silent, catching Olga’s scornful glare.

Igor gently took Anna’s hand, and they stepped toward the bed. The others moved aside, forming a silent circle around this altar of degradation. No one spoke again, but each felt something within shatter—splintering into sharp, irretrievable pieces.

Anna, as if in a dream, moved slowly, her steps unnatural, as though she walked through invisible resistance. Her shoulders hunched, eyes fixed to the floor, while a tremor overtook her frail body. Igor walked beside her, outwardly calm, though his fists clenched the fabric of his pants with strain he could no longer hide.

The bed stood before them—bare, offensive in its simplicity. The neatly stretched sheet seemed designed to expose them.

Anna froze, nearly stumbling. Her fingers curled into fists, nails digging into her palms like anchors to reality.

Igor cast a glance at the others. They stood like statues, frozen in misery. Katya covered her face, shoulders quaking in soundless sobs. Artyom stared at the wall, willing himself to disappear into it. Olga stood stiff, eyes ablaze with restrained fury, lips pressed into a hard line. Vadim remained hunched, motionless, his expression stony.

– It’ll be okay, – Igor said, his voice low and almost tender, though he didn’t believe it himself. It sounded more like an attempt to soothe his own soul than hers. He looked at Anna, trying to meet her gaze, but she kept staring down at her bare feet, rooted to the floor.

– How? – she whispered, her voice so fragile it seemed the sound might break her. – How can this ever be… okay?

Her words filled the room with the unbearable weight of truths no one dared voice. Igor had no answer.

He knew any word would be an empty sound, powerless to change anything. His eyes flicked to the bed, then quickly away, as though touching something searing hot.

– Just… trust me, – he said at last, forcing the words out. – It’s the only way.

Anna nodded, but her movement was so slow, so stiff, it looked more like an effort not to collapse. She lifted her head with difficulty—her face pale as if bloodless, her eyes filled with helplessness and shame.

Igor placed his hand gently on her shoulder. Her skin was ice cold, and she flinched almost imperceptibly at his touch. He tried to speak again, but his throat tightened, and only a muffled breath escaped.

They took another step. With each movement, the air grew denser, until it felt like nothing existed beyond this room. Only this bed, this moment, this unbearable awareness of being watched. The others’ shadows stretched across the floor like ink, framing their path.

Katya suddenly broke into sobs. Her cries shattered the silence like glass. She covered her face with trembling hands, her voice stammering between sobs.

– Please… don’t… don’t do this, – she whispered, but her words vanished into the void.

Igor turned to her but said nothing. His gaze was heavy, filled with the exhaustion that left no room for speech. Katya looked away, like a child caught in wrongdoing, and curled into herself again, trying to disappear.

– It has to be done, – Igor murmured, more to himself than anyone else. – We have no other choice.

He stepped forward, leaving Anna half a step behind. Her legs shook beneath her, but she followed, like a marionette pulled by invisible strings.

Then Olga spoke. Her voice was low, nearly a hiss.

– They want to destroy us, – she said, hatred lacing every word. – Are you really going to obey them? Just like that, on their terms?

– What’s your plan, then? – Igor didn’t turn. His voice was calm but steely. – Die now? Or wait until they kill us later? You want to stand on principle? Good luck, Olga.

She fell silent, lips drawn into a hard line. Her eyes darted around the room, finding nowhere to rest. Vadim, standing beside her, glanced at her briefly but said nothing.

Igor and Anna finally reached the bed. Their figures stood like silhouettes against the cruel clarity of the moment. Both were silent—but within that silence lay a bottomless abyss: fear, shame, pain, despair—all mixed into one poisonous draught.

Igor lowered his gaze, squeezed her shoulder gently, and whispered:

– We’ll get through this.

Anna closed her eyes, her lashes trembling like the wings of a trapped bird.

She stood before the bed as if before an abyss. Her body froze, even her breath shallow and strained. Her hands slowly rose to the collar of her sweater, fingers trembling so violently they barely obeyed. She tried to breathe deep, but the air felt like lead.

The others watched in silence, though they tried not to look. The scene pressed upon them all—even those who struggled to remain stoic.

Olga’s fists clenched tight, nails carving crescents into her palms. Katya wept silently behind her hands. Vadim stood still, eyes fixed to the floor, expression unreadable. Only Artyom, jaw clenched, stared at the far wall, refusing to look.

Anna slowly pulled her sweater over her head. The cold air bit into her skin. Her slender form seemed exposed, though she still wore a simple undershirt. She bit her lip, holding back the tears teetering on the edge.

Her movements were careful, almost mechanical—like she was shielding herself from an unseen gaze. Each gesture was deliberate, but void of grace, empty of confidence—only the subdued despair of shame.

– Don’t look at me, – she whispered, her voice barely audible, her head turned to Igor. Only he could hear her.

Igor looked away. He, too, trembled within, though outwardly composed. He wanted to say something—anything—but knew words were useless now.

Instead, he stepped back, giving her space. She noticed the gesture, and a flicker of gratitude passed through her eyes, quickly replaced by another wave of shame.

Her hands moved down again, trembling fingers hesitating at the zipper of her pants. She held her breath, as though preparing to plunge into icy water. Time seemed to slow, every inhale and exhale echoing sharply in the oppressive silence. At last, she unzipped them, and the fabric slid soundlessly down, revealing her thin legs.

She stood, head bowed, unable to meet the others' eyes. Her hair fell forward, shielding her expression, but her clenched lips and trembling shoulders betrayed her inner turmoil. This was her limit. This was all she could endure.

Igor began undressing as well. His movements were quicker, devoid of the shy hesitation that wrapped around Anna like a second skin. He unbuttoned his shirt without looking at anyone, the fabric slipping from his shoulders, exposing a fit, slightly hunched body. His face remained focused, but the tension in his hands and the briskness of his actions revealed his inner rejection of the act.

When he removed his trousers, he froze. His eyes met Olga's, who had finally looked up. It was only a moment, but in it lived a thousand words: bitterness, shame, disdain, fear. She turned away first, staring into nothing.

Anna remained still. Her breathing quickened, her face flushed with humiliation. She hugged herself, as if shielding against the burning gaze of the invisible observer who watched through the cameras.

Igor glanced at her; his brows furrowed slightly, but he said nothing. He wanted to comfort her, to step closer, but he didn’t know how to do it without making things worse.

– We'll get through this, – he said softly, though it sounded more like a mantra to himself.

The room was steeped in oppressive silence, so dense it seemed to choke the air. The others stood frozen, their shadowed faces and hunched silhouettes the only witnesses to what unfolded. Their eyes kept falling to the floor, as if avoiding the reality around them.

Anna lay at the edge of the bed, her body tense, every muscle resisting. She tried to breathe deeply, but each breath came with a stab of pain. Her eyes remained shut, as though that could shield her from the truth of her surroundings. She tried to drift elsewhere, far from this room, these people, herself.

But Igor was beside her. His movements were mechanical, stripped of tenderness, of humanity. He too had cast his thoughts elsewhere, doing all he could not to notice. His face was unreadable, yet the tight line of his lips and drawn brows revealed the storm inside. This wasn’t just submission—it was the disintegration of all that tied him to human dignity.

Each motion, each faint sound, reverberated through the room, sinking into the walls like silent blows of humiliation. No one dared speak; even a breath felt forbidden. The others, standing in a circle, avoided looking, yet felt it all the same—as if it was happening to each of them.

Katya covered her eyes with a trembling hand. She couldn’t endure the silence, the looming sense of inevitability. But there was nothing she could do. Her muted sobs mingled with Anna’s faint whimpers, but no one reached out to comfort her.

Artyom watched, frozen and unsure.

Vadim, the cynical lawyer, observed with cold detachment. His gaze remained on Igor and Anna, his expression unreadable. Something flickered in his eyes—curiosity, perhaps, or a shadow of grim satisfaction. Whatever it was, it vanished, replaced by his familiar mask of indifference.

Olga stood still, arms at her sides, watching the scene unfold with horror and fury. Her breath came in sharp bursts. Her eyes darted from Igor and Anna to the camera, as if she could stop this madness by sheer force of will. But she knew, as they all did, that there would be no rescue. No mercy.

The bed creaked softly beneath their movements, a quiet accompaniment to the symphony of forced intimacy. The walls pressed in, the air grew thicker with each passing second.

Olga clenched her jaw, her body trembling with restrained rage. She wanted to scream, to attack someone, anyone—to fight back. But she knew better. Bitter experience had taught her that resistance was useless, that their captors were not to be trifled with. She looked around the room, locking eyes with the others, each a mirror of her own torment.

Katya's face was streaked with tears, her eyes red and swollen. She tried to look away, but her gaze kept returning to the bed, to Anna's body beneath Igor.

Then came the climax.

Anna shuddered, her breath sharp and ragged, like someone gasping for air after surfacing from the deep. Her body tensed, then collapsed, drained of all strength. Igor, by contrast, remained still, his breathing slightly heavier. His face betrayed nothing—the mask of a man who had crossed a line he never wished to see.

A voice rang out, cutting through the heavy silence.

– Orgasm detected. Task completed.

The words, delivered with terrifying neutrality, sliced through the air like a blade. Anna broke. Her face twisted in agony as she burst into tears. But these weren’t tears—they were the scream of a soul, cornered and defenseless, stripped of everything. She pressed her hands to her face, trying to hide, though she knew no one truly saw her.

Igor slowly pulled away, like a man walking on thin ice. He looked down, unable to meet anyone’s gaze. He had no words to explain or justify what had happened. He simply sat at the edge of the bed, lowered his head, and exhaled, as if that breath was all he had left.

Sobbing, Anna tried to rise on her elbows, but her trembling arms gave out. She collapsed again. Something had torn inside her, and the rupture spilled out in unrelenting tears she could no longer suppress. She covered her face, fingers digging into her skin, leaving red streaks on her cheeks. Her body shook like a shattered doll, barely holding together.

– I… I can't… – she whispered, her voice buried in sobs. Thin, almost childlike, her helplessness made the pain unbearable to witness.

Igor sat upright on the bed, eyes locked on a point on the floor. He was motionless, like a statue. Only his clenched fists betrayed the turmoil beneath. He wanted to say something—just one word to ease her pain—but his mind was blank.

He glanced at Anna. She trembled as if from cold, but he knew better. This was hysteria, a storm she could no longer contain. Her hair clung to her tear-streaked face, fingers gripping the sheets in a desperate attempt to hold herself together. But each sob shattered her a little more.

– Enough… – Igor said softly, but the words were meant more for himself. He knew she couldn’t stop, that peace was out of reach, but he could no longer bear the silence torn by her cries.

Anna didn’t hear. She clutched her head, pressing her palms to her temples, trying to silence the unbearable thoughts. Her body convulsed, her breath ragged and uneven. She opened her mouth, about to scream, but only a sob came forth, soaked in despair.

– They… they’ll break us, – she whispered between sobs. Her voice barely audible, but each syllable echoed through the room like a wound. – They… already have.

Igor flinched. Her words pierced him. He looked at her, and for a moment, guilt flickered in his eyes—but he looked away again. He couldn’t face her. Her pain was too raw, too real. It awakened something in him he was trying desperately to silence: the feeling of loss.

The others remained silent. No one intervened. They stood in a circle like ghosts, stripped of strength, of will. Katya again covered her face, her shoulders quivering in grief.

Olga pressed her lips together, but couldn’t hide the glimmer in her eyes—tears she refused to shed. Vadim stood slightly apart, his expression unreadable, but his fists clenched until the knuckles whitened.

– You’re not alone, – Igor said, his voice quiet, almost lifeless. He placed a hand on her shoulder. Anna recoiled, jerking away. Her reaction was sharp, like a cornered animal.

– Don’t touch me! – she cried out, her voice cracking with emotion. She pulled away, wrapping her arms around herself. – Don’t you dare… You don’t understand…

Igor froze. His hand lingered in the air, then slowly fell. He didn’t argue. He didn’t try to console her. Instead, he stood, walked to the other side of the bed, and sat on the floor, lowering his head. He wanted to say he understood, but that would be a lie. All he felt now was emptiness—and it only grew.

The voice returned, like a faceless judge observing from some emotionless height.

– Anna, Igor, – it began in its cold, measured tone, – you have completed the task. As a reward, you are granted one hour together in the bathroom. This space is camera-free, and the other participants will not be present.

The words landed unexpectedly, like a sliver of relief after unbearable strain. Anna raised her head abruptly, her face still wet with tears. Her breath was ragged, shoulders shaking. She didn’t understand—was this mercy, after being pushed past the edge?

Igor furrowed his brow, though a flicker of life returned to his eyes. He looked up toward the ceiling, as if trying to see the invisible speaker. His voice was low, edged with sarcasm.

– Another test? Or are we really being offered a scrap of dignity?

The voice seemed immune to his emotion.

– Not a test. A suggestion from a wise individual who wishes to help. Use this time to compose yourselves and understand each other. Remember: you are not enemies. The more you connect, the greater your chances of success.

Silence followed. The others remained still, absorbing the message, each in their own way. Katya chewed her lip, eyes flicking between Igor and Anna. Artyom smirked, but it was just a mask. Olga crossed her arms, her eyes glowing with suppressed fury.

– As if that fixes anything, – she muttered, but no one responded.

Anna stood. Her movements were unsure, but she didn’t resist. She avoided the others’ eyes, her gaze fixed on the floor. Igor gave her a small nod—a signal that they could go. He took her hand, but gently, not with force—a gesture of support, not command.

They walked toward the door, which opened as if on cue. Beyond it lay a small room, bathed in soft light. White tiles, mirrors, a closed shower stall—a setting meant to comfort, but still laced with artificiality.

The door closed behind them, leaving the others in silence. Anna inhaled deeply, trying to steady herself. Igor released her hand and sat on the edge of the tub, watching her.