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Dylan's hair had grown, Jesse noted. The uneven strands now brushed his ears, the way it used to when they were small.
He looked more like the little brother she remembered.
Jesse was sat beside Emily, their shoulders brushing. The contact had become familiar after years together; Emily had become one of the few Jesse trusted without reservation.
"We could cut it," Emily offered.
"...what?" Jesse blinked. "Sorry. I was... lost in thought."
"His hair. It's getting long." Emily shrugged. "We could cut it, if you wanted. I... don't know how he liked it, before."
Before.
Jesse's mouth curved in a small, tired smile. "No. He would like it as it is. He always said he wanted to match me, when we were kids."
"Of course." Emily smiled. She motioned to a comb lying on the table beside them, likely left by Dylan's medical team. "Well. Maybe you could brush it, then?"
The air inside the containment unit was cooler. Jesse moved to the side of the bed and, after a moment, began working the comb through Dylan's hair, carding her fingers after each pass the way she had when they were children and he had sat still only for her.
Jesse let herself sink into the small, ordinary combing motions, and that was when she felt it - a perfectly circular scar, hidden beneath the hair at the base of Dylan's skull.
"What's..." Jesse frowned. "Emily. What's this scar?"
Emily had followed as far as the doorway.
"That's... his MCD scar, Jesse."
"...MCD?"
"You haven't...?" Emily shifted her weight. "The MCD was a... device that Dr. Darling used during Dylan's time as a Prime Candidate. The Mobile Containment Device, implanted at the back of the head. A short pulse disrupts neural activity. It was a..." She grimace. "Failsafe."
Jesse's hand had gone still in Dylan's hair. Horror washed over her first. Then anger, rising fast and directionless, looking for a target.
It found the nearest one wearing an FBC badge.
"They put a...?" Jesse's voice stalled. She couldn't meet Emily's eyes. "I...I think you should go, Emily."
"Jesse-"
"Emily." Jesse swallowed hard, forcing the anger down before it could spill onto the wrong person. It was not Emily who had done this, she knew. But Emily was FBC, and right now the FBC was the thing that had taken a ten-year-old little boy and carved a kill-switch into the back of his head. "Please."
Emily's expression flickered through hurt, then understanding.
"Of course, Jesse."
Her shoes clicked softly against the floor as she left.
Jesse set the comb down, leaned in, and carefully gathered her brother into her arms as best the medical wires allowed. His body was heavy and unresisting.
She missed his hugs.
"I..." Her voice cracked as she pressed her face against his shoulder, her cheeks suddenly wet with tears. "I'm sorry, Dylan."
Sorry for Ordinary. Sorry for running. Sorry for everything the FBC had done. Sorry she had been so late.
Dylan did not stir.