He lifts another knife. Spins it by the tip with careful fingers, admiring the shine.
“I imagine she’ll try to talk to me first. Or maybe cry. Do you think she’ll cry, Cassian?”
He turns—
Then stops.
A knock.
Soft. Tentative.
At the door upstairs.
My blood turns cold.
Sabine.
She’s here.
Dinner is about to begin.
For all the details my brain usually catches when I’m in survival mode, the moment the man leaves the basement to let Sabine in, everything fades.
My mind goes blank. I rub at the rope again without thinking. Even the pain doesn’t pull me fully back.
Then the door creaks open upstairs.
A moment later, it closes with a soft click I somehow hear from down here.
That’s how I know.
Sabine’s inside.
Goddamn it. She’s here.
I yank once, hard.
Blood slips.
I hear them getting closer, footsteps moving toward the basement stairs, and my whole body goes still again. It’s like my mind shuts down to protect itself, unable to face how awful this moment really is.
Everything else fades.
All I can hear is the sound of Sabine’s shoes clicking against the stone steps.
She’s wearing high heels, no doubt. The thin kind, more like needles than anything solid. They clink so delicately you’d think she was descending from a dream instead of walking into a nightmare.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Then I hear her voice.
Panicked. High-pitched. Scratchy, like she’d just screamed into a pillow until her voice bled.
Still, it’s pretty.
