Zahra's legs trembled as she pushed herself up from the sterile floor of the medical ward. Her dark hair fell in tangled waves around her face, partially obscuring the thin scar that ran along her jaw - a reminder of the day she arrived. The hospital gown hung loose on her frame, hiding the strength she'd maintained despite weeks of confinement. Her yellow eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the room with practiced precision.
The absence of Thisbe, created an opportunity. But timing would be everything. Zahra's gaze drifted to the security cameras mounted in each corner of the ward - sleek, black devices that moved in an intricate dance of surveillance.
Seven seconds of movement. Ten seconds of observation. Four corners. Three to four cameras per corner. Unsynchronized.
