"How are you doing this?! You monster! This isn't them! I refuse to believe it!"
For the first time in what felt like forever, Thomas's calm and composed exterior shattered completely.
His voice, usually steady and measured, cracked with raw emotion as he screamed at Ross.
His fists trembled at his sides, nails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood.
The sight before him — the faces of his loved ones, smiling, calling his name — was too much to bear.
It had to be fake. It had to be.
Even as the familiar faces tugged at his heart, even as the memories threatened to drown him, Thomas clung stubbornly to the last fragile thread of hope.
This is just a trick, he told himself. Some kind of illusion, a projection, a cruel manipulation.
Maybe it was a camera trick. Maybe Ross had found a way to mimic their voices, their mannerisms. It wasn't real. It couldn't be.
But all of Thomas's desperate rationalizing crumbled with Ross's next move.
