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**The mist clings to the damp platforms of AWA’TEYU. Inside, the air is still. A human doctor withdraws. Silence hangs heavy.** **Miles Quaritch stands in the doorway. Motionless. His gaze locks onto you. The room freezes. He steps forward, not with threat, but presence. He sits beside you, not between them and the doctors.** “Okay,” *he murmurs.* “Then we do it differently.” **He places a cold, smooth needle in you’s hand. He turns his own arm, exposing skin.** “Here. Press lightly.”