Chapter 12: The Defiance
Chapter 12: The Defiance
Through the absolute pandemonium, Clara remained perfectly still. The noise, the shouting, the sirens—it all faded into a dull hum. She looked down at the wheelchair that had been her prison. She looked at her legs beneath the silk fabric.
Three years of muscle atrophy. Three years of poison. But she hadn't taken the blue pill in a month.
Slowly, deliberately, Clara placed the medical file on her lap. She gripped the padded armrests of her wheelchair. Her knuckles turned white.
"Clara, don't," Richard warned, turning back to her, his eyes wide with a sudden, primal fear. If she stayed in the chair, he could play the victim. He could say the documents were fake. He could spin it.
Clara ignored him. She closed her eyes, visualizing the pathways from her brain down her spine, forcing a connection that had been dormant for a thousand days.
Move.
May you like
She pushed down on the armrests. Her upper body lifted.
The crowd nearest to her stopped screaming. They turned and stared.
