Darkness swallowed the room.I didn’t move for a long time.
My body trembled now that I was alone, the adrenaline crashing hard.I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to keep warmth in, trying to keep my mind from splintering.
Okay.You’re here.You’re alive.You think.I tested the chain carefully.Solid.No give.The post didn’t budge.The concrete floor felt like ice beneath me.
I unfolded the blanket, laid it out as best I could, placed the pillow at one end.It was a kindness I didn’t trust, but I wasn’t foolish enough to refuse what little comfort was offered.
I didn’t lie down.
Not yet.
I sat with my back against the post, knees pulled to my chest, listening to the sounds of the building settling above me.A faint drip somewhere.The low hum of electricity.Maybe footsteps, or maybe my imagination filling in gaps.
My mind raced despite my efforts to slow it.
Someone knew.
That thought circled endlessly.
This wasn’t random.This wasn’t opportunity.This was targeted.Someone had known where I lived.Someone had known when I was alone.Someone had been watching long enough to plan.
And that meant—Dante was in danger too.
The image of his face flashed behind my eyes, sharp and immediate.His voice.His insistence on safety.His warning instincts that I half-dismissed because I didn’t want to live in fear.
I swallowed hard.
I didn’t want him hurt, but I also knew he would be aware of my absence soon enough.I knew that in my bones.He paid attention.Dante didn’t wait.He didn’t hope.He acted.
Which meant I had to do my part.
Stay alive.
Stay aware.
I cataloged everything I could remember.The drive.The turns.The sounds.The smell of the basement.The chain’s weight.The way the man spoke—controlled, calm, practiced.
Not panicked.
Not impulsive.
That scared me more than rage would have.
I hugged the blanket around my shoulders but didn’t lie down.Sleep was vulnerability.Sleep meant losing time.Losing awareness.
And right now, awareness was the only weapon I had.
I rested my head against the cold metal post, eyes open in the dark, listening.
Waiting.
And praying—quietly, fiercely—that somewhere, someone had seen something.
That the camera had worked.
That the man who did this for whatever reason left a trail behind him.
Because I wasn’t ready to disappear.
