The door slams.
We wait.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Fifteen.
Footsteps fade.
Then silence.
Tiffany exhales shakily. “I hope I shattered that asshole’s balls.”
I nearly laugh. It comes out a rough breath. “I think you did.”
“Good,” she mutters. “Now let’s get out of here.”
She shifts her foot again, and this time the blade drops into her hand with a soft metallic clink.
She grins. “Bingo.”
I watch her maneuver the tiny blade toward the zip tie binding her wrists. It’s agonizingly slow—her wrist angle is awful, the blade tiny, her fingers shaking.
I listen to every drip of water, every echoing footstep outside.
Every second is a countdown.
“Hurry,” I whisper.
“Working on it.”
The plastic begins to saw. She bites her lip, pushing through the pain.
Then—
A snap.
Her wrists break free.
She lets out a shaky breath. “Okay. Now you.”
She scoots toward me on her knees, cutting quickly, efficiently.
My wrists spring apart.
I could cry from relief. I don’t.
I lean forward so she can reach my ankle restraints.
“Listen,” she whispers. “Once we’re free, we need distance first. Don’t run for the door—they’ll expect that. We need a shadowed route.”
“Back wall,” I say immediately. “I saw a maintenance ladder there.”
“Good,” she nods. “We climb.”
Just as we both are getting to our feet we hear it. The distant roar of something shakes the walls.
