[Present]
The cold was suffocating, wrapping around Robin like iron chains. They sat hunched on the metal bench of the containment cell, fingers curling tightly around the phone receiver, as if it were the last fragile thread connecting them to a world that already felt distant and unreal. Above, the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, flickering against pale walls that swallowed every sound, every breath, and even hope itself.
Behind the reinforced door, two guards spoke in clipped, measured tones.
"Is it the guy from the Barcelona incident?"
"Yes. She blew out the sky. Lucky nobody died."
"Shame... he looks like a kid!"
"It's a tragedy, really. But give her some space. It's her last call."
"Of course... I'll send him to his cell after that."
"You do that. I will discharge the rest of her group. They're clean."
No one ever seemed sure what to call Robin. The guards stumbled between pronouns like ill-fitting clothes. Never quite right, never settled. But in this place, this didn't matter.
Robin's throat felt raw and tight, a desert inside. They lifted the receiver with trembling hands, pressing it against their ear, waiting for a sound from the other side.
The phone rang once. Then twice. Then a confused voice answered. "Hello?"
"Dad?" The word escaped Robin's lips, cracked and small, barely a whisper.
"Hey, little bird." A deep voice responded, warm and familiar, a tiny spark against the freezing silence.
"I love you." Tears welled up, blurring Robin's vision as they whispered.
"Hey, hey, little bird... I love you too." The voice softened but carried a thread of worry. "What's happening? Where are you?"
"Dad...?" Robin's voice broke like a prayer, blinking hard against the sting of tears.
"Yes?" The voice helding years of stoicism, bending like steel under crushing weight.
"Help...?" Robin sobbed, voice barely audible, the receiver pressed to their cheek like a prayer.