I didn’t shout.
I just stood there, alone in the street, breathing in the last place she had been. And realized I had never known true stillness until I couldn’t hear her breathing anymore.
And the silence didn’t sound like absence. It sounded like worship torn from my chest. Like the echo of a prayer I never deserved to have answered. And I would kill them all for taking it.
32
CLOE
The first thingI felt was pressure.
Not pain. Not even weight.
Just the hum of something tight around my wrists, the ache in my ankles where the rope pulled skin raw. A thread of fire where circulation had stopped. The pulse in my temple beat slow and heavy, like my body was counting down from something I couldn’t name.
The second thing was the smell. Not blood—not yet. But everything else.
The stench of mold crawling through concrete. Rust in the air. Old sweat soaked into fabric. A damp, sour rot I couldn’t place until I breathed too deep and nearly choked.
Urine.
Not fresh.
The kind that lingered.
The kind that clung to walls and skin. I kept my eyes closed for a moment longer. Tried to piece myself back together one breath at a time.
Where was I?
Where was he?
Wolfe.
Flickers came back to me. I saw him before the dark. His back turned. His coat catching in the wind. The moment he stepped into the building, and the light swallowed him.
I had screamed his name.And he hadn’t heard me.That was the sound still echoing in my ribs. Not the scream—the silence that followed it.
I opened my eyes. It was hard to tell what was real.
The room was dim, the only light a low orange coil from a bulb hanging half-dead above my head. It swung slightly, casting long shadows that bent the corners of the room into things they weren’t.
The walls were concrete. Stained. No windows. No clock. Just a single metal door to my left, rust bleeding down its hinges.
I tried to move. Tried to lift my arm. The rope bit deeper. They’d tied me to a chair.
Metal legs. One wobbled. My back screamed against the posture. My thighs were cold, sticky with dried sweat. My mouth was stuffed with a rag so tight I couldn’t even close my lips around it.
I breathed through my nose. The air was sharp. Rank. I swallowed around the gag. My tongue scraped cotton. My jaw ached.
I turned my head slowly. Pain bloomed at the base of my skull. The bastard had hit me harder than I thought. My scalp pulsed where it met the chair.
The door stayed closed. But I wasn’t alone. I could feel it. Someone watching.
I tested my bindings. Quietly. My left wrist was raw, but the knot wasn’t perfect. Too low. If I bent my hand just right, I might get enough leverage to loosen it. But not yet. Not while I was being watched.
I let my eyes fall half-shut. Tried to make my body go slack. Let them think I was still out.
My heart beat louder than it should have. Not fast. But hard. Like it was trying to stay loud enough for someone to find.
