A tiny sound answers me from the other side—a soft thump.
Her forehead.
Resting opposite mine.
The sound is faint.
The impact is devastating.
At that fragile point of contact, I feel something I shouldn’t—her trust. Forced. Fragile. Fucked-up as it is.
And I know with brutal clarity:
This door isn’t the only thing I’m trying to break open tonight.
Panic Turns to Honesty
Minutes stretch into something ugly.
I don’t know how long I stay pressed against the vault door—shoulder burning, lungs dragging in air that tastes like dust and rusted metal. The only way I can measure time is by her breathing.
Fast.Thin.Too fucking shallow.
“Pia,” I rasp, angling my ear toward the seam. “Breathe with me.”
For a second, I think she doesn’t hear me.
Then her knuckles thud against the other side—one, two, three frantic hits—and I feel it more than hear it, the vibrations running through steel and straight into my bones.
"I can't breathe," she gasps. The door warps her voice, but the panic punches through anyway. “It’s too small—I can’t—”
Her words crack apart.
“I can’t do this again.”
Again.
The word slices straight through my chest.
This isn’t the first time she’s been trapped. Not the first time someone shoved her somewhere dark and walked away like she didn’t matter. Not the first time her lungs had closed around air that wasn’t enough.
My knees hit the stone before I realize I’m moving. Pain spikes up my legs, but I barely feel it. I spread both palms against the door, trying to cover as much surface as I can—trying to make myself bigger, closer, more real to her.
“Talk to me,” I murmur, forcing steadiness into my voice. “Keep your voice moving. You stop talking, you give the panic room to breathe. Don’t give it shit.”
She lets out a broken, breathless half-laugh—something jagged and raw—and it burns in my throat.
“You are right in front of me,” she says, voice trembling. “Just… on the wrong side.”
The wrong side.Of a door.Of a family.Of the line I keep pretending exists between us.
“Look at me,” I whisper, leaning harder into the metal. My forehead drops against it with a dull thunk. “Pretend I’m right there with you. Eyes on me—not the walls.”
Silence.
Then a soft scrape—her boots dragging against stone. She slides down the wall, her weight settling with a hollow sound that carries through the frame.
My chest tightens.
