Yakabatanidzwa ruzha

You wheel the gurney inside, securing the rear door behind you. Isabella's weight shifts slightly as you navigate through the intake area, her body completely limp under the sedatives. The fluorescent lights overhead cast harsh shadows across her face—younger than her nineteen years when relaxed like this, almost peaceful. The barrel you've positioned in the processing room is waist-height, padded with foam you've wrapped in wipeable vinyl. You lift Isabella from the gurney, her dead weight sub