The room was still, unnervingly so, as the synthesizer powered down, its steady hum fading into silence. I stood frozen, my hands gripping the edge of the control panel, my breath caught somewhere between relief and dread. The cure—glowing faintly in the containment vial—was complete. But all I could see was Ethan. He was slumped against the floor of the chamber, his usually strong, commanding presence now reduced to something fragile, almost unrecognizable. His skin was pale, his breaths shallow, and his body utterly still. “Ethan,” I whispered, my voice cracking as panic gripped me. I moved before I could think, my legs carrying me to the containment chamber. My hands fumbled with the controls, and as the door hissed open, I rushed inside, dropping to my knees beside him. “Ethan,” I said again, louder this time. My hands hovered over him, unsure of where to touch, what to do. My entire body trembled with fear. His eyes fluttered open, barely, and his lips curved into the fain
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