Frank stood by the closed door, shoulders squared, his presence pressing against the air itself. Then, slowly, he turned. Every movement measured. Every step intentional. His eyes found mine across the concrete floor, dark and unwavering. And then he spoke. The words were sharp in the silence, as bare and cutting as a blade. “No.” The room seemed to shrink around that single word. Every heartbeat, every thought, every fear pressed in tighter. I blinked, swallowing hard. There was nothing to argue with, just him. And the quiet, absolute weight of his answer. “Why,” I asked, my voice calm, just needing to understand. “Because it wasn’t relevant to you.” I blinked. I didn't know when it started.My hands found the nearest chair, and I threw it. The sound it made hitting the concrete wall was enormous in the empty room. The echo of it bouncing back at me. It wasn't enough. I screamed. Not words. Just sound. The raw, unformed sound of something that has been compressed too lo
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