"Time's up," said the guard, who had entered the room they were in. "Let's go." His voice carried nothing but malice.

Dr. Windsor looked at him with a seemingly neutral expression on her face, and placed her hand on Ethan's shoulder, applying a thick, white band-aid on his arm.

"The injection may cause dizziness and vomiting," she said as she walked them to the door. "Try not to put him through any strenuous activity, if it's not too much to ask," she said with a poisonous tone.

The guard took Ethan by the arm and mercilessly squeezed the part where Dr. Windsor had injected the new dose. A cry of pain tore Ethan's throat, as he attempted to break out of the forceful grip.

"It's alright, he's been through worse," the guard said and when he was about to grab Ethan's hair to drag him to the door, the guard's hand stopped just a few inches from his head. Ethan fell as soon as he let go of his arm, landing on his knees.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't do that," Dr. Windsor said holding her hand up. The red glow in her eyes hid the real hatred that lurked deep down within, and which would at any moment find its point of ignition. She stood between the guard and Ethan. "Do I have to remind you where you are?"

The guard immediately put his hand down after Dr. Windsor had lifted the Petrification Spell.

"Please," she said without an ounce of hesitation, pointing to the door for the guard to enter the code.

After she helped Ethan up, the door slid open and the guard grabbed Ethan by the forearm.

"You better watch who you order around, Doctor." He glared at her. "We wouldn't want any trouble, now would we?"

The guard didn't wait for her response and dragged Ethan, who dared not turn around to avoid raising unnecessary suspicion, out of the room. As they walked down the hall, the burden on his heart grew heavier. The sensation left by the injection burned his arm but it could not be compared to the fire that burned inside him. Had he imagined it? Was it part of an illusion that his mind had fabricated in his desperation to hold on to any hope? His name, for the first time in days, had been spoken without ill intent. He lowered his head. There was no time for utopian thoughts. The fact that she could have read his name on the patient form, however, did not get rid of the bitter taste in his mouth.

When they arrived at his cell and the guard pushed him inside, Ethan barely complained about landing on his bruised back. He waited for the silence to stabilize the atmosphere and for the cascade of negative thoughts to resume again. But he was puzzled to feel a warmth, different from the one he had felt before, burning his arm. When he opened his eyes, an amber glow appeared to shine through his sleeve. The light barely illuminated the confined space of the cell.

With hasty, trembling hands, and despite the pain that the chains caused on his wrists, Ethan rolled up his sleeve and saw the glow emanating from underneath the large band-aid. Without a second thought, Ethan removed the band-aid and noticed the small folded paper from which the dim light was coming from. His heart was pounding at a thousand miles an hour as he worked up the courage to unfold the paper.

He only had a few seconds to read its contents, those letters that seemed to have been written down in fire and which emitted its own heat and light. Those words were what brought back to his dark reality the light he had always held onto. And which he would now never let go of.

As soon as Ethan finished reading the last word, the paper combusted itself in the blink of an eye, leaving no trace of existence behind. As if it never existed. But he knew it was real. He had to believe it. Because it would probably be his last hope and chance to get out of there alive.

He muttered to himself the words in fear of forgetting them as if they had not already been forged in his memory. He closed his eyes and found them there, glowing and brightening his inner darkness. He smiled.

The wait would come to an end at last.