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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.