“No,” I said.
“Let’s go.”
We moved. Or limped. Or dragged what was left of us.
The hallway above us was caved in. The floor below cracked open. There was no ceiling anymore—just the night sky. Just smoke. Just the sound of sirens from too far away.
But I still had it.
The collar.
My fist clenched around it so hard the leather creaked. It smelled like ash and her skin.
I pressed it to my mouth. Not like prayer. Like a fucking promise. My hand was bleeding, but it held. Tight. Like a lifeline. Barron leaned against the wall. Nodded once. Eyes clear.
“Get her back.”
I nodded. Turned. And crawled. My knees dragged across shattered glass. My palms tore open on broken tile. One nail bent back. Snapped.
I didn’t stop. I didn’t look back. I moved like a man who knew where God lived—and meant to kill him for taking her.
Through the smoke. Through the ash. Through the ruin of everything they thought would stop me.
I wasn’t crawling toward survival.I was crawling toward her voice.And every breath I took was one they wouldn’t.
37
CLOE
I woke to white.
Not light.
White.
Bleached walls. Bleached air. Bleached silence. Even the ceiling was wrong—too smooth, too clean, like it had never belonged to anyone.
The floor beneath me wasn’t cold. It was indifferent.
A slab of concrete dressed in perfection, humming with fluorescent lights that didn’t flicker. There were no shadows here. No edges. Just brightness. Just exposure.
And I was alone.
The gag was tight. Fabric soaked in something chemical. My tongue tasted metal. My lips were cracked. No chains. No ropes. Just absence. They’d taken everything. The collar. My shirt. My sound. And given me back silence.
I moved slowly. Sat up. My muscles ached. My stomach burned. Not like pain. Like consumption.
The hunger was sharp already. Coiled. Alive. Not the dull gnaw of missed meals. This was deeper. This was cellular.
I tried to remember when I last ate.
Soup.
Wolfe’s kitchen. Kneeling on the floor. Devouring survival like it could anchor me.
I swallowed around the gag. Air rasped down my throat. The room had no corners. I crawled to the nearest wall. Pressed my hand to it. It didn’t give.
There was a mirror on the far side. But not mine. A window. One-way. I couldn’t see who watched. But I felt them.
