Lana's POVTime is a strange thing when you stop trying to hold it still.I have stopped counting the days. Stopped marking their passage by the quality of light through my window or the rhythm of meals or the quiet shuffle of the guard rotation changing outside my door. Those structures belong to a version of me that needed external things to feel anchored. That version is gone. What replaced her does not need to count days because she can feel time moving inside her body, in the slow, inexorable expansion of something that has no interest in waiting for her to be ready.The power is stronger every morning.I feel it when I wake, a hum in my bones that was not there when I closed my eyes the night before, as if my body has been working through the dark hours on something I did not authorize. I feel it when I walk the east corridor, electricity moving along the surface of my skin, barely contained, politely waiting. I feel it when I am absolutely still, lying on my back in the early h
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