The Hive

Chapter 11
Chapter 10

Sunlight filtering through the lace curtains painted dancing patterns on the wall. Benjamin woke in Lucas's warm embrace, feeling protected and... almost happy. That "almost" still clung to the edges of his consciousness, but it grew quieter with each passing day.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Lucas whispered, gently ruffling his hair.

"Mmm," Benjamin stretched, yawning so wide his jaw cracked. "Five more minutes? Please?"

His voice sounded sleepy, childishly petulant.

"Can't, little one. Sara will be coming to check soon."

They got up, and the morning rituals flowed in their usual course. Lucas helped Benjamin wash up—small hands struggled to hold the toothbrush, which kept slipping from clumsy fingers. Then he changed the night diaper for a day one, trying not to think about how natural this had become for both of them.

"You know," Benjamin said while Lucas tied his shoelaces, "I just remembered how Mom does this the same way. She squats down, smiles and says: 'There we go, my good boy, now you can run.' And it's... nice to remember."

Lucas froze, the shoelace hanging in mid-air.

"You remember your real mom?"

"Of course!" Benjamin blinked in surprise. "Why, shouldn't I? She's nice. Kind. Just works a lot. But when she has time, she always..."

He faltered, frowning.

"Strange. I remember how she ties shoelaces, but I don't remember... don't remember her face. Just the feeling. Warmth. Care. Like now with you."

Anxiety slithered down Lucas's spine like a cold snake. If Benjamin was starting to mix childhood memories with the present, if the boundaries between then and now were blurring...

"It's okay," he said quickly, helping Benjamin to his feet. "Sometimes memories get fuzzy. It's normal."

"Really?" Benjamin looked up at him trustingly. "Do you get confused too sometimes?"

"Yes," Lucas lied. "All the time."

At breakfast, the usual atmosphere of chaos reigned. Michael, who had definitively transformed into a six-year-old, enthusiastically recounted his dream about a magical cookie castle. Amelia sat focused on braiding her doll's hair, the tip of her tongue poking out in concentration. Robert methodically spread porridge across the table, occasionally getting the spoon to his mouth.

"And in the castle lived a dragon!" Michael exclaimed excitedly, waving his spoon. "But he was nice! And he blew rainbow bubbles!"

"Dragons can't be nice," Amelia stated didactically, not looking up from her doll. "They're mean and eat princesses."

"Not true! My dragon only ate cookies!"

Benjamin listened to their argument with a slight smile, mechanically bringing the spoon to his mouth. The porridge was sweet, with honey and cinnamon. He no longer noticed the cloying sweetness, didn't try to analyze every bite. He just ate because he was hungry and the food was tasty.

"Lucas," Sara's soft voice made them both jump. She had materialized beside their table as silently as always. "After breakfast, Miss Hart wants to see you. In the honey room."

The spoon froze halfway to his mouth. The honey room—the inner sanctum of the Hive, Eleanor's personal office, where guests were invited only for the most serious conversations. In three years, Lucas had been there only a handful of times, and each visit left a bitter aftertaste.

"Did something happen?" His voice sounded calm, but under the table his fists clenched.

"Just a conversation. About your... successes with Benjamin." Sara smiled that professional smile that expressed nothing. "Don't worry, it's not a reprimand. Quite the opposite."

She left as quietly as she'd appeared. Benjamin reached under the table, found Lucas's hand, squeezed it with small fingers.

"I'll come with you! We're together, right?"

"No, sunshine," Sara had already returned with wet wipes, starting to clean Michael's face. "This is a conversation for adults."

"For adults." In any other situation, the irony would have made Lucas laugh. But now the words sounded like a sentence.

After breakfast, he headed to the honey room. The Hive's corridors seemed longer than usual, each step echoing in his head with a dull thud. Behind him remained the sounds of morning games—Amelia's laughter, Michael's excited shouts, something indistinct from Robert.

The honey room door was ajar, golden light spilling from within. The smell hit him even before he reached it—thick, cloying, enveloping. Honey was everywhere here—in the air, in the furniture, in the very amber-colored walls.

"Ah, our little helper," Eleanor's voice was soft, almost tender. "Come in, Lucas. Have a seat."

She sat behind a massive light wood desk, shuffling through some papers. To look at her—an ordinary businesswoman in her middle years. Only her eyes gave her away—yellow glints danced in them, like in a hive full of bees.

Lucas sat on the edge of the chair, ready to jump up at the first sign of danger. An old habit, developed over years.

"Do you know why I called you?"

"No, Miss Hart."

"To thank you."

The words hung in the air. Lucas blinked, not believing his ears.

"Excuse me?"

Eleanor leaned back in her chair, lacing her fingers together.

"In the past week, you've accomplished what I couldn't have done with years of therapy. Benjamin has finally begun to mentally regress. And in record time."

Cold ran down his spine despite the warmth of the room.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, haven't you noticed?" A note of surprise appeared in her voice, feigned or genuine—impossible to tell. "Yesterday he called you brother twelve times. Not friend, not Lucas—brother. He cried when he fell, though the scrapes were minimal. And he cried not from pain, but because he wanted comfort. Your comfort."

She stood, walked to the window. Beyond the glass stretched the garden—a sea of flowers under the morning sun.

"He drank from the bottle without a single protest. Moreover—with obvious pleasure. And most importantly—he's starting to confuse memories. Real childhood is mixing with the new one. This is a critical moment in the process."

"It's... it's not because of me," his voice wavered.

"Of course it's because of you, dear." Eleanor turned, and sunlight created a golden halo around her. "I was starting to worry. The physical changes were proceeding at record speed, but the mind... the mind was resisting. Like yours did once. I was afraid he'd turn out to be another partial case."

"I have immunity to honey."

"Partial immunity," she corrected. "To the chemical effects. But not to the emotional ones. And then you appeared. The older brother he always wanted. Protector. Comforter. The one who blows on scraped knees and changes diapers without disgust."

Each word hit like a slap. Lucas jumped up, the chair toppling over.

"You used me!"

"Used?" Eleanor tilted her head, studying him like an interesting exhibit. "Such a crude word. I gave you both what you wanted. You—purpose, meaning for existence, a younger brother to care for. Him—the older brother from childhood fantasies. Isn't that wonderful?"

"It's manipulation! You deliberately didn't separate us, though you threatened to! Everything was staged!"

"Not everything," she objected. "I couldn't have predicted you'd bond so quickly. That you'd develop genuine care for him. That he'd attach to you more strongly than to a mother-figure in me. That was... a pleasant surprise."

"Pleasant?!" His voice broke into a scream. "Because of you... because of me... He's losing his identity! Forgetting who he is!"

"He's gaining a new identity. Happy. Carefree. Loved."

"That's not him! That's your puppet!"

"It is him," Eleanor explained patiently, as one explains to a slow child. "Just without the burden of the past. Without pain, disappointments, failures. A clean slate for a new, better story."

"Better?!" Lucas laughed, and there was more hysteria than humor in it. "Turning an adult into an eternal child—that's better?!"

"And what awaited him outside?" Eleanor's voice suddenly became hard, metallic. "Shall I remind you? Debts. Depression. Alcohol as his only friend. Loneliness eating him from within. And in the end—another suicide attempt. Successful this time."

She came closer, and Lucas retreated, feeling the wall cold against his back.

"Don't pretend you don't recognize the scenario, Lucas. You went through it yourself. The gun on the kitchen table, the bottle of whiskey, the note 'Tired of pretending.' Remember?"

The blow hit its mark precisely. Lucas staggered.

"That's different..."

"Really? How? Because you 'chose' to stay here? But was it really a choice? Between a bullet to the head and life in a child's body?"

"At least I decided myself!"

"And Benjamin decided. Every day he decides to stay with you. To be your younger brother. Don't you see how happy he is?"

"This isn't happiness! It's escape!"

"ALL LIFE IS ESCAPE!"

The scream tore through the room's silence. Eleanor slammed her palm on the desk with such force that the windows shook. For a moment, the mask of maternal care slipped, revealing something raw, bleeding.

Silence hung between them, thick as honey. Eleanor breathed heavily, then slowly straightened, fixing a strand that had escaped from her hairstyle.

"Forgive me," her voice became even again. "I... got emotional. But you must understand—I do this out of love. For all of you. I give you a chance at happiness, even if it's like this."

"Like you loved Emily?"

The words burst out before Lucas could stop them. Three years of silence, three years of observations, three years of overheard conversations and rumors gathered piece by piece—everything poured out in two words.

Eleanor paled. For a moment, it seemed she might fall.

"What did you say?"

But the dam had already burst.

"Emily! Your daughter! Whom you drove to suicide with your 'love'! With your demands to be better, more successful, more adult!"

"Be quiet."

"'Mom, don't pressure me! Mom, I'm tired of measuring up!'" Lucas mimicked, not recognizing his own voice. "That's what she wrote, isn't it? In her diary? Before she took the sleeping pills!"

"BE QUIET!"

"And now you're trying to fix your mistake! Giving others what you didn't give her—the right to be little! Only they didn't ask for this! They asked for help, not this... perversion!"

The door burst open with a crash. All the Hive's inhabitants crowded in the doorway—Sara with the guests, drawn by the screaming. Michael was already starting to whimper, sensing the tension. Amelia pressed her doll to her chest like a shield. Robert sat in Sara's arms, his face buried in her shoulder.

And Benjamin. He stood slightly apart, small, confused, but in his eyes still glimmered a spark of understanding. A spark of adult Benjamin, fighting for the right to be heard.

"What's happening here?" Sara began, but Eleanor raised her hand, stopping her.

"Lucas is just expressing his opinion about our work." Her voice was calm, but steel rang in it. "Go on, boy. Tell everyone what monsters we are. How we ruin lives. Turn adults into children against their will."

"Yes, I will!" Lucas turned to the gathered crowd. "This place is a lie! The honey is poison! They're turning you into children not for your benefit, but because Miss Hart couldn't save her own daughter! And now she's compensating, playing god with other people's lives!"

"Lucas..." Benjamin took an uncertain step forward.

"And you know what's funniest?" Lucas laughed, feeling hysteria rise in his throat. "I'm just as much a hypocrite! I decided Benjamin was better off staying adult! Decided for him! Just like she decides for all of you!"

"Finally a glimpse of honesty," Eleanor slowly applauded. "Bravo, Lucas. You're absolutely right. We both play god. Only I at least admit it openly."

"You're destroying lives!"

"I'm giving new ones!" She gestured around at the frightened guests. "Look at them! Michael a few weeks ago stood on the roof of an office building, ready to jump. Amelia drank a bottle of wine a day, washing it down with antidepressants. Robert... oh, dear Robert has a whole collection of scars under his long sleeves, each one—a failed attempt to find a way out."

She walked to the window, gesturing for everyone to look at the garden.

"And now? They smile! Play! Create! Live! Yes, like children. But they live!"

"This isn't life! It's an illusion!"

"And how is adult life better?" Eleanor turned sharply. "The endless race for success that always slips away? Eternal fatigue that makes every morning torture? Disappointments, betrayals, loneliness in a crowd?"

She paced the room, and everyone involuntarily stepped aside.

"Emily was twenty-five. Beautiful. Brilliant. The youngest partner in a law firm. I gave her everything—the best education, connections, opportunities. I forgot to give only one thing—the right to be weak. The right to make mistakes. The right to remain a child."

Her voice cracked. For a moment, everyone saw not an iron lady, but a broken mother.

"Do you know what she wrote in her note? 'I'm tired of measuring up. Tired of being perfect. I want to go back to where I can just BE.' The same words you wrote, Lucas. And you, Michael. And all the others in your letters, diaries, unsent messages."

"And now you're forcing everyone to be children!" Lucas shouted.

"I'm giving a choice!"

"What choice?! Honey in every spoonful of food! Manipulation! Lies!"

"The doors are open. They've always been open. Anyone can leave after the first night, but no—everyone preferred to stay and pass the point of no return... everyone, including you."

"For those who can still make decisions! And the others?" Lucas pointed at Robert. "Can he choose? Or is it already too late?"

"And did you ask Benjamin?" Eleanor turned to the boy. "Does he want to leave? Return to adult life? To debts, depression, an empty apartment?"

All eyes turned to Benjamin. He stood, shifting from foot to foot, clearly struggling with himself. Then, slowly, as if not controlling the movement, he brought his thumb to his mouth. Started sucking, looking at the floor.

"I... I don't know," he mumbled around his thumb. His voice sounded childishly uncertain. "It's scary there. It hurts there. Here... here there's Lucas. He takes care of me. Loves me."

"You see?" Triumphant notes appeared in Eleanor's voice. "He's happy here. With you. Thanks to you. And you want to take this happiness away from him?"

"This isn't happiness! It's... it's..."

"It's love," she finished. "Distorted, strange, built on regression and dependence, but love. You love him and want to protect him. I loved Emily and wanted to protect her. We both made mistakes. But my mistake gives others a chance. And yours?"

Lucas was silent, feeling the ground slip away beneath his feet. All his arguments shattered against a simple truth—he really was deciding for Benjamin. Hadn't asked what he wanted. Just decided he knew better.

Like Eleanor once decided for Emily.

"You know what?" Eleanor returned to the desk, opened a drawer. "I'll give you what I didn't give my own daughter. A choice. A real choice."

She took out a small vial of clear liquid, placed it on the desk.

"The antidote. Yes, it exists. I didn't create a poison without an antidote—that would be irresponsible."

Dead silence filled the room. Even whimpering Michael fell quiet.

"Is it true?" Lucas's voice cracked. "You can reverse... everything?"

"You can try. The antidote destroys the honey's chemical effects, starts the reverse process. The body tries to return to its biological age. But..."

She paused, looking at the vial.

"The process is imprecise. Unpredictable. Remember Thomas?"

Lucas remembered. A guest who'd been at the Hive only a week. Rough, aggressive, demanding they "stop this circus."

"He threatened to go to the police, sue, expose us in the press. I gave him the antidote. He wanted his forty-two years back." Eleanor looked up. "He got ninety."

"What?"

"The body overcompensated. In three days, he aged fifty years. Bones became brittle as glass. Skin like parchment. Organs began failing one by one. He died two weeks later. Heart attack."

"You killed him!"

"I gave him what he demanded. Freedom. Adulthood. His body just miscalculated the dose. The same could happen to you. Or worse. Or better."

She pushed the vial to the edge of the desk.

"But the choice is there. Stay—and live as you have. With your brother, your little family, your purpose. Or drink—and take the risk. Maybe you'll return to thirty-five. Maybe you'll age to death. Maybe something in between. The odds are about even."

"And Benjamin?"

"He has the same odds."

"I'll take him with me!"

"Where? In what form?" Eleanor spread her hands. "A seven-year-old boy without documents? Will you explain to the police that he's actually an adult? They'll arrest you for kidnapping at best."

"Then what happens to him? He stays here forever?"

Eleanor walked to the bookshelf, took out a thick folder of photographs.

"You've always suspected what happens to those who 'graduate,' haven't you? Thought we... eliminate them?"

She opened the folder. Dozens of photographs—happy families with children. At the beach, in the park, at holiday dinners.

"This is Marcus. Remember him? Left a year ago." She pointed to a photo where a boy about six rode a bicycle, with a middle-aged woman running alongside. "Now he lives in Oregon. With Martha and John Miller. They couldn't have children for ten years. Now they have a son who'll never grow past six, but will love them with all his heart."

Next photo—a girl with pigtails on a swing.

"Sophia. Former financial analyst. Now the daughter of Helen Ross—a woman who lost her only child in a car accident. They both got a second chance."

"You... you sell people?" The horror in Lucas's voice was almost tangible.

"Sell?" Eleanor shook her head. "I connect broken hearts. There's a whole network of families—people who've lost children or can't have them. People ready to love and care for 'special' children. Those who'll never grow up, never leave, never break their hearts with teenage rebellion or adult indifference."

"But that's... that's human trafficking!"

"It's salvation," she corrected. "Both sides get what they want. Our graduates—a loving family, care, a home. The families—the child they dreamed of. All documents are processed legally—adoption of children with developmental disabilities. No one asks unnecessary questions."

She showed more photos. In all of them—clearly happy children with new parents.

"We monitor each one. Monthly reports, photographs, medical checkups. If something goes wrong—we take them back. But in five years of the program, there hasn't been a single return. Not one."

"Do they remember?" Lucas's voice dropped to a whisper. "Who they were?"

"At first—vaguely. Like a dream. Then new memories displace the old ones. After a year, they completely believe they've always been children. That Martha and John are their real parents. That their past life was just a bad dream they finally woke from."

Lucas stared at the photos, unable to look away. Indeed, everyone looked... happy. Relaxed. Loved.

"But they'll... they'll never grow up?" Horror of understanding seeped into his voice.

Eleanor nodded, and something like sadness appeared in her eyes.

"Never. The honey changes not just the body—it rewires the biological program itself. Stops the internal clock. Marcus will forever remain six. Sophia—eight. Their bodies no longer know how to grow."

"That's... that's a curse!"

"Or a blessing," Eleanor objected softly. "Think about it. They'll never age. Never know the pain of arthritis, dementia, lonely old age. Never lose the childish joy in simple things—soap bubbles, ice cream, bedtime hugs."

She walked to the window, gazing at the garden.

"And their parents? They'll never endure teenage rebellion. Never hear 'I hate you' from a fourteen-year-old. Won't suffer when their children leave for college and forget to call. Their little ones will remain little forever—loving, needing, grateful for care."

Lucas suddenly went cold with a sudden thought.

"Wait... eternal? Are they immortal?"

Eleanor shook her head, and bitter wisdom appeared in her smile.

"Oh no, dear. I haven't created an elixir of immortality. That would be... cruel. Imagine—eternity in a child's body, outliving generations of parents, watching the world change while you remain the same. No, that would be a true curse."

She approached the bookshelf, ran her finger along the spines.

"They're mortal, like all of us. Just their path is... different. They won't experience the slow destruction of the body. Arthritis, dementia, frailty. Their bodies remain childlike—strong in their fragility, flexible, full of energy."

"But how... when?"

"It varies. Normal lifespan, maybe a bit less—children's bodies are more vulnerable. But the end comes... gently. They just fall asleep one day and don't wake up. Like children sometimes pass in their sleep—quietly, without struggle, without fear."

Eleanor turned to him, tears standing in her eyes.

"The first was Lily. Five years ago. She was biologically six, chronologically sixty-two. She lived twenty happy years with her new family. Her parents wrote—on her last day she played in the park, laughed, ate ice cream. In the evening she asked for a bedtime story, hugged her mom, said 'I love you' and fell asleep. Forever."

"That's..."

"Merciful? Yes. They don't know the fear of death, because children don't know how to truly fear. They don't suffer in hospitals, don't count their last days. They just live while they live, then gently leave, like falling asleep after a long day of play."

Lucas felt something squeeze in his chest.

"You're playing god."

"I'm trying to fix god's mistake," Eleanor answered sharply. "He gave us consciousness so we could suffer, aware of life's finite nature. Gave us old age so we could slowly lose everything we love—strength, beauty, mind. I just... shortened the path. Removed the middle, full of pain."

"But the middle is life!"

"For them, life is eternal childhood. Yes, they'll never experience many things. First love. Wedding. Birth of their own children. Wisdom of maturity. But they also won't experience betrayal by loved ones. Bitterness of divorce. Death of their own children. Loneliness of old age."

She returned to the desk, sat in the chair. Suddenly looked very tired.

"Do you know what Lily's mother said after the funeral? 'Thank you for twenty years with my little girl. She left happy, never knowing the world could be cruel.' Isn't that the best epitaph?"

"And the families? Do they know the truth?"

"Partially. They know they're taking an adult in a child's body. That they'll never grow up. That at first there might be oddities—fragments of adult memories, skills. But we prepare them. Teach them how to react, how to help with adaptation. And you know what? They manage brilliantly. Because they want this child more than anything in the world."

"It's still wrong!"

"And what's right?" Eleanor closed the folder. "Leave Marcus to drink himself to death in his apartment? Let Sophia make her fifth suicide attempt? Or give them a new life where they're loved, protected, happy?"

She returned the folder to the shelf.

"Benjamin could have a wonderful family. I'm already looking at options. There's a couple in Maine—a teacher and librarian who lost a son his age. There's a single woman in California—a child psychologist who's dreamed of a child all her life. They'd give him everything."

"No!" Lucas stepped forward. "He's not a thing to be regifted!"

"Of course not. He's a person. Who deserves love and care. The question is just—can you give him that? Forever? Or will you tire of playing big brother in a year?"

"I'm not playing!"

"I know. That's why I'm giving you a choice. But think—what's better for him? Stay here, in an institutional setting, or go to a real home? With real parents?"

"He has me."

"An eleven-year-old boy can't be a guardian. Even here you're just a helper. But there, in a new family, Benjamin would be the center of the universe. The only and beloved one."

Lucas was silent, processing the information. Part of him understood the logic. Another part screamed that it was monstrous.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you need to understand all the options. If you stay and interfere with his adaptation—he'll get stuck between worlds, like you. Won't be able to return or move forward. And then no family will take him. Who needs an eternal teenager with fragments of adult memories?"

"And if I don't interfere?"

"Then maybe in a year or two he'll be ready. Fully adapted, a happy child ready for a new life. And you can let him go, knowing he'll be in good hands."

"Or keep him here. With me."

"Or keep him. But think—what's better for him? Your love, limited by the Hive's walls? Or a complete family, a home, the chance to go to school for special children, play with peers, live a normal childhood life?"

The question hung in the air. Lucas understood the manipulation, but also saw the grain of truth. What could he really give Benjamin besides his care?

"And yes, one day Benjamin will leave too," Eleanor continued. "In twenty, thirty, forty years. But he'll leave as a child—not knowing bitterness, disappointments, regrets. He'll leave loved, surrounded by care. Isn't that better than dying alone, as you were planning to?"

"It's deception!"

"It's mercy. I can't give them immortality—that would be torture. But I can give them life without old age. Death without dying. Eternal childhood that will one day gently end, like a happy dream ends."

She paused, looking out the window.

"Emily was twenty-five when she decided to leave. Do you know what I think about every day? If I could have given her this—eternal childhood, protection, absence of the pressure to grow up... Would she have lived longer? Happier? Would she have left in her time quietly, and not..."

Her voice cracked.

"Every one of our graduates is an Emily I managed to save. Even at the cost of adulthood. Even at the cost of the fullness of experience. But a living child-Emily is better than a dead adult-Emily. Isn't it?"

Lucas was silent. Arguments shattered against the simple, terrible logic. What's really more important—to live a full life with all its pain or a truncated but happy one?

"So no," Eleanor finished. "This isn't an elixir of immortality. It's an elixir of a different life. Shorter, perhaps. Simpler, definitely. But for many—the only possible one. And when their hour comes, they'll meet it without fear. Because children aren't afraid to fall asleep. They just close their eyes, knowing mom is nearby."

"Can I... talk to him?" His voice sounded lost. "Alone?"

Eleanor nodded.

"Five minutes. In the garden. Sara will watch from a distance so you don't run off with the antidote. That's my only condition."

In the garden, under the old apple tree where they hid their secrets, Lucas and Benjamin sat on the grass. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, creating a play of light and shadow. An idyllic picture for an impossible conversation.

Benjamin was still sucking his thumb—nervous regression from stress. Lucas gently removed his hand, interlaced their fingers.

"Don't. You're a big boy."

"Not very big," Benjamin tried to smile. "And getting smaller. Soon I'll be like Robbie. Babbling and blowing bubbles."

"Don't say that!"

"Why? It's true. And you know what?" He turned, looked directly into his eyes. "When you're near, it doesn't seem scary. On the contrary. It seems... right?"

"Benji..."

"Don't leave." His voice broke, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Please. I'm scared without you. With you I can be little. I can cry when it hurts. I can ask for help. I can just BE, without pretending to be strong."

"But you'll forget yourself!"

"And who am I?" Benjamin wiped his tears with his sleeve, smearing them across his face. "Loser Benjamin Wilson? Fired copywriter? Debtor? Or your little brother Benji, who you're ready to fight the whole world for?"

"You're more than that!"

"Really? What was more in me? An empty apartment? Debts? My only friend—a teddy bear?" He shook his head. "But here I have you. A real friend. Brother. Family. Isn't that more important?"

"It's an illusion!"

"All life is an illusion!" Benjamin jumped up, small fists clenched. "Or do you think it was more real there? Where I drank three liters of coffee to not fall asleep at the computer? Where I counted pennies until payday? Where the best thing waiting for me was drunken sleep without dreams?"

He sat down again, hugged his knees.

"If you drink that thing and die, I'll die too. Not physically. Inside. Because you're the only good thing that's happened to me. Even here. Even like this."

"And if I stay? You'll disappear. Become just a child."

"Or become a happy child with a loving brother. Who blows on scraped knees. Reads fairy tales. Hugs when it's scary." Benjamin looked at him with wet eyes. "Is that so bad?"

"I don't know!" Lucas clutched his head. "I don't know what's right! Save you from this or save you from what's waiting outside! I'm confused!"

"Then choose with your heart. What does it say?"

Lucas closed his eyes. His heart beat fast, driven. What did it say?

It said that this past week he'd been happier than in the three years before. That caring for Benjamin gave him purpose. That their strange friendship-brotherhood was real, despite all the artificiality of the situation.

It said—stay.

But reason screamed—run.

"Time's up," Sara's voice came from afar. "Boys, come back."

They stood. Benjamin clutched Lucas's hand with desperate strength.

"Whatever you choose, I'll understand. But know—I love you. As a brother. As a friend. As the only person who saw more in me than a loser."

The way back seemed both too long and too short. In the honey room they were waiting—Eleanor by the window, the vial on the desk.

"Well?" she asked without turning. "What is your choice, Lucas Martinez?"

Lucas approached the desk. Took the vial, turned it in his fingers. The glass was cold, inside the liquid shimmered like water.

Freedom in a bottle. Or death.

He looked at Benjamin. He stood by the door, fists clenched, all tense with anticipation. Small. Defenseless. His.

Then at Eleanor. In her eyes was no triumph—only fatigue and understanding.

"Is there a third option?" he asked quietly.

"What kind?"

"I stay. But you don't interfere in our relationship anymore. Don't manipulate. Don't use me to accelerate his regression. Just... let us be."

Eleanor thought about it.

"And what in return?"

"I never rebel again. I help with new guests. I become part of the system. But Benjamin... let him change at his own pace. Without enhanced doses. Naturally."

"He might get stuck. Like you."

"That will be his choice."

A long pause. Then Eleanor nodded.

"Fine. But the vial stays with me. And no more talk of the antidote. Ever."

"Agreed."

Lucas put the vial back on the desk, stepped back. In that instant Benjamin rushed to him, hugged with such force it became hard to breathe.

"Thank you! Thank you! I knew! I knew you wouldn't abandon me!"

"I... I don't know if I did the right thing," Lucas admitted, hugging him back.

"The right thing is that we're together. The rest doesn't matter."

Eleanor walked around them, stopped at the door.

"You know what, boys? Maybe you're right. Maybe the illusion of happiness is better than the reality of pain. Maybe love—even this strange kind—is more important than freedom. Emily never learned that. You have a chance."

She left, leaving them alone.

"What now?" Benjamin asked, not loosening his embrace.

"Now..." Lucas stroked his head. "Now we live. Day by day. Together. And come what may."

"Do you regret it?"

"Ask me in a year. Or ten. When I can answer honestly."

"And now?"

"Now I'm just glad you're here."

Outside the window the sun was setting, painting the honey room in red tones. Ahead lay uncertainty—days full of regression and loss, illusions and strange happiness.

But they would meet them together.

And for now, that was the only truth Lucas was sure of.