Irina’s mouth curves faintly. “Because she will be told what to do. And she will listen. People tend to listen when they are afraid.”
I clutch Lily tighter until she makes a small sound in her sleep.
“Why are you doing this?” I whisper.
Irina studies me. “Because you are a loose end.”
Then she nods once to the man. “Lock it.”
The door closes.
The lock clicks.
I lunge for it anyway, jiggling the handle, pulling, pushing. It doesn’t budge.
I step back, chest heaving, Lily still asleep in my arms like the world hasn’t just turned into a nightmare.
The room is quiet except for my breathing.
I search for a phone. None. I search for an intercom. Nothing. I check the windows. The curtains are heavy, but when I pull them aside, my stomach drops again.
No balcony. No fire escape. Just a wide pane of glass looking out over dark lawns and trees and a fence line far away. And the glass…it doesn’t look like normal glass.
It looks thick.
My knees go weak.
I sit on the edge of the bed because if I don’t, I’ll fall. Lily shifts and curls into me, thumb finding her mouth. I press my lips to her forehead and fight the urge to cry.
Minutes pass. Maybe more. Time feels wrong in here.
I hear the lock turn.
My muscles tense. I get up, ready to fight or plead, I don’t even know which.
But it isn’t Irina.
A woman walks in, somewhere between my age and Aleksander’s. She’s got olive skin, black hair twisted into a quick bun, and eyes that track every detail the moment shesteps inside. She closes the door quietly behind her. There’s a cautious, almost tired kindness to her face.
She looks at Lily, then at me. “She’s sleeping?”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
She steps further in and offers a small, careful smile. “Don’t worry. I’m not here to hurt anyone. I’m supposed to check if you need anything—food, a change of clothes, whatever for the little one.”
I stay where I am, arms folded tight. “I don’t need anything.”
She shrugs, dropping the bag on the table. “Suit yourself. I’m Selene, by the way. Not your jailer, if that’s what you’re wondering. Think of me as your—very temporary—neighbor in hell.”
“Are you locked in too?” I ask, dry.
She laughs—a real one, throaty and rich. “Not yet. But who knows, it’s early. Irina’s rules change hourly.”
At the mention of Irina, my face must go stiff, because Selene’s expression softens—just a little. “Yeah, she’s terrifying,” she says. “And before you ask, no, I don’t know her last name. If she even has one. I just know she likes to be in charge and everyone here lets her.”
She plops down on the edge of the chair, legs crossed, studying me with a sharp, assessing glance. “You look like you could use a friend, or at least a translator. These people”—she makes a vague circle in the air—“have all the warmth of a Siberian prison.”
I fold my arms, still wary. “Why are you here?”
