It does something to me.
A flutter. A shift. A feeling I can’t name curling deep in my stomach. There are dimples in both of his cheeks—a cute thing. But on him, it looks anythingbutcute. They look like warning signs. Like nature’s way of saying, “this one’s dangerous, stayaway”. Or maybe,“this one will ruin your life, proceed at your own risk.”
Not that a dead girl can proceed with anything.
But for some reason, something inside me stirs. Again.
“What have you done to me?” I ask, watching as he takes bleach and tosses it just inches away from me. Then, with a lazy flick of his wrist, he attaches the rag to a stick and starts scrubbing away the chalky symbols drawn on the cold stone floor.
“We told you already,” he murmurs. “We bound you.”
The moment the last stroke vanishes, something shifts inside me. A pressure I hadn’t even noticed before—like invisible threads laced through my limbs—loosens.
I don’t move immediately. Because I’m not dumb. I wait, testing, seeing if the weight will return. If this is another one of their mind games. But nothing holds me back. My body is mine again.
“You should be able to move now,” Nathaniel says, straightening up.
I nod. The flickering should be easier now. I just need to focus on how much I want to get out of here.
A breath in. A breath out. Then—
…Nothing.
I press my fingers together, focus, will myself into the void.
Still nothing.
I don’t drop into the earth. I don’t slip away into the unseen. I just stand there. Like an idiot. Legs solid. Feet planted.
So, Plan B: I take a step forward. And even though it works—I move—the feeling of wrongness stays lodged in my soul.
But who cares, really?
If I can walk, I can leave. And if I can leave? Then fuck these guys.
Nathaniel doesn’t stop me. Neither do Foxface or Cassian. Which is either really good or really, really bad.
I take another step, then another. The exit is right there. I just need to go where I first flickered in, then past it. That’s where Nathaniel came from, so clearly, that’s where the rest of the world is.
My legs feel kind of heavy, a little too solid compared to before. But they move, and that's what matters.
Foxface and Cassian have stopped whatever morally dubious activity they were doing and are now watching me like I'm the local circus. Which, rude, but not unexpected.
Pain—my only ally—flaps ahead, wings ruffling. It’s nervous; I can feel it in the way it twists in the air, darting forward like it wants to guide me out, like it wants me to run.
And honestly? It's a really good idea.
I pick up my pace.
Three more steps.
Two.
One—
I get into the dark corridor of the basement.
I don’t stop.
