The room was small. Bare walls. A single chair. A bare bulb flickering overhead like it was holding onto its last breath.
I sat down.
No witnesses. No alarms. Just me… and the silence.
I tried to speak, but the words stuck in my throat — heavy, like stones lodged in my ribs.
I wanted to say sorry.
For what, I wasn't sure.
Sorry for being broken? For being made to break?
Or for all the men I promised to kill — and the ones I already did.
The truth was sharper than any blade.
I was tired.
Not just tired in the way the world talks about tired — but bone-deep, soul-shattered tired.
Tired of pretending the rage wasn't the only thing keeping me alive.
I pressed my hands to my temples.
The memories flooded in — the screams, the orders, the endless waiting.
But beneath it all, a small voice whispered:
You're not just a weapon.
You're still human.
Still capable of pain.
Still capable of mercy.
I closed my eyes and let the confession spill out — not to anyone else, but to myself.
Because if I couldn't forgive me, who else would?
I thought about Remi — the one who gave me the stolen card, who showed me the tape, who dared to believe there was still something left in me worth saving.
He didn't see a monster.
He saw a broken girl, desperate for a second chance.
But what if I wasn't broken?
What if I was exactly what I was meant to be — a force.
Not just a weapon.
A reckoning.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and let the silence wrap around me like a shroud.
Because this was my confession.
Not a plea for forgiveness.
But a promise.
That no matter what they built me for…
I would choose who I was.