LYSANDER
The suppressants sat in my palm.
Three white tablets. Small enough to swallow without water. Powerful enough to fuck with my biology in ways the healer had warned against.
I stared at them for longer than necessary. The morning light cut through my window and turned them almost translucent. I could see the fine grain of the coating, the way they caught the sun and threw it back in muted flashes.
My hand closed around them.
The decision had already been made. Days ago, really. Maybe weeks. Maybe even longer. Like the moment my mother died and I realized my father would never change, would never stop, would never be anything except the monster he'd spent decades perfecting.
I walked to my dresser and pulled open the top drawer. Socks and undershirts lay folded in neat rows. I pushed them aside and dropped the bottle in the back corner, where nobody would think to look if they came for anything.
The drawer closed with a soft click.
