I'm not leverage.
I'm not a trophy.
I'm not weak.
I'm a woman who's been through hell and come out fighting, and Ethan Morrison is about to learn that the hard way.
I'm working at a rough edge on one of the pipes, trying to cut through the zip ties.I grind the zip tie against the jagged edge of rusted pipe again and again, each scrape like a shot of adrenaline through my veins.My wrists are raw, slick with blood now, but the plastic’s fraying—weakening.Another few seconds.That’s all I need.
Snap.
It gives.
The sudden slack in my wrists makes my breath hitch.For one suspended moment, I freeze, almost unable to believe it, then I’m moving fast and quiet, dragging the severed ties off and staggering to my feet.My legs wobble like I'm a newborn, every muscle jelly from whatever they shot me with, but I force motion into them.I bite down on my sleeve and use my teeth to pull the zip ties off completely.
I make it to the door.
There’s no window in it, just steel and bolts, but I test the handle anyway.Locked, of course.Still, I’m not without options.I check the hinges, feel around the frame for a weak point, even drop down and check along the base of the door.Nothing.No tools.No vent.No screws I can work loose.
But the ceiling has those exposed pipes, they could be my way out.So I climb.I stack the only thing I can drag: a chunk of cinder block left behind in a corner, maybe used to weigh something down.I balance one foot on it, grip the lower pipe with aching fingers, and haul myself up.My muscles scream, but I’m in motion, limbs trembling, teeth clenched so hard my jaw aches.
A vent.Too small for a grown man, maybe not for me.
My fingers are just reaching it when I hear the door.
CLACK.
I drop instantly, landing in a crouch, adrenaline surging, heart trying to tear its way out of my chest.I dart behind the door’s inward swing, flattened against the wall.
It opens.
Boots step in.One set.Heavy.Too confident.I don’t wait to see who it is.
I lunge.
My shoulder slams into his ribs with everything I have, driving him off balance.It works.He stumbles back with a shout and crashes into the wall across from the door.I bolt.
The hallway’s dim and industrial.Concrete underfoot, exposed bulbs overhead, peeling paint on cinderblock walls.No windows.Just long corridors and closed doors and distant voices.
But I don’t stop.
I run.
My bare feet slap against the cold floor as I turn corners, searching for daylight, for an exit sign,anything.
A shout behind me.Fast footfalls.
I push harder.My lungs burn.The hallway blurs.There's a fork ahead.I take the left.
And then…
A punch.
It comes from nowhere.A fist, hard and sudden, straight to my cheekbone.CRACK.Stars explode across my vision, a white flash like lightning behind my eyes.I collapse mid-sprint, hitting the floor shoulder-first.Pain radiates from the impact like liquid fire.
I try to crawl.
Fingers dig into my hair and drag me backward across the concrete.I scream, kicking, thrashing, but I’m too weak.My body betrayed me the second I started to hope.
