Adrian had believed innocence meant standing nearby and saying nothing.
They had both mistaken restraint for weakness.
I closed my fingers around the button and remembered the ten seconds beneath the pillow—the burning in my lungs, the narrowing light, Vivian’s excited breath.
I had not survived because I was stronger than plaster, gravity, or two people who wanted my silence.
I survived because I had watched, documented, prepared, and waited for the exact moment their own voices could no longer lie for them.
Then I pressed once.
