I don't respond, don't blink. Just watch him.
I can't trust any of them—no matter how beautiful this man might be.
“I'm gonna slide this through, alright?” He says as he crouches by the bars and slips the blanket between them. He stays crouched there for a moment, as if hoping I might say something.
“What's your name?” He asks, keeping his voice soft.
I don’t speak, but my eyes dart betweenhim and the blanket. Desperate to feel its warmth but too scared to move a muscle or take my eyes off him for long.
This has to be a trick. There has to be an ulterior motive.
He waits in silence while my pulse pounds in my ears. Then he gives a small nod, slowly stands, and turns to leave.
“Mine’s Zane,” he says over his shoulder as he walks quietly towards the door, pulling it closed behind him, leaving me alone once more.
Zane. Is that even his real name?
What if this is how they wear me down? One of them plays the monster. One of them plays the saviour. Just long enough to catch me letting my guard down.
When I hear his careful footsteps fading into silence, I quickly reach for the blanket and pull it over me. It smells like woodsmoke, and it feels rough on my skin, but it’s warm. Toasty enough to stop my shaking as the chill leaves my bones.
I don’t know if it’s meant as comfort or bait. But I wrap it tighter anyway.
Right now, warmth feels like the only mercy Ihave.
Chapter 4
Zane
Myles won't be awake for another hour.
Should I check on her?
Last night she looked like something hunted. Trembling, curled up in the far corner of the cell, on the cot with her knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped tight around them. Small and wrecked and... trying so hard not to be.
I tried to move slowly, to not scare her. But Myles had done a number on her. She vibrated with fear.
More like a rabbit than a doe… but I can see that doe-like resemblance that Myles seems to love so much.
She didn't speak, barely even moved, as if she was frozen in fear. Like a rabbit waiting for the trap to spring.
She’ll be hungry this morning, and I still don't trust Myles to feed her without asking for something in return. He won't be happy when he finds out that I snuck in to see his little pet.
But I just stood there while he dragged her in. Didn’t say a word. Didn’t stop him. I even helped him at one point. Just like before—back when I saw women in cages every day, stacked three-high, begging as I kept walking.
My stomach knots. I try reminding myself there was nothing I could’ve done. If I tried, I’d be dead. But I’mstill breathing… and they’re not.
I used to believe that survival was enough. But living through it doesn’t mean you deserved to. Twenty-six years of life and all I have to show for it are scars—both physical and mental.
Carrying a precariously balanced plate of stale biscuits, bowl of warm water and mug of steaming tea, I make my way down the hallway.
When I reach the door to the holding room, I take a deep breath as a strange sense of excitement flutters in my chest. Then, I slowly open the door.
The sun has warmed the room nicely after the chill of the night. But it’ll be an oven by midday.
I'll have to come back to open a window after Myles undoubtedly terrorises her again.
Her eyes flick to me immediately. Suspicious, fearful. Something squeezes in my chest seeing her like that. But she has every right to be scared.
