I lift the bottle, shake it so the tablets clatter like teeth. Then I look straight at the red light above the door. “You’re still watching, aren’t you?” My voice is calm, almost tender. “Good. You wouldn’t want to miss the ending.”
The light flickers once. Maybe a power surge. Maybe a signal. Either way, I smile. The guard’s bloodstain on my cuff has faded to a soft brown halo; when I rub it, it warms. I lie back and close my eyes.
Three weeks in. The doctor trusts me. The staff are half asleep. The doors remember the taste of freedom. So do I.
My stomach’s heavier in the mornings now – just a whisper of change – but I refuse to give it attention.
And somewhere out there, the men who think they lost me are still searching. Coming for me. Promising vengeance seeped in blood.
I hope they hurry.
Because by the time they arrive, there won’t be anyone left to rescue.
TOGETHER OUR EDGES BLEED
Don’t Walk Alone (stripped) - Callum Beattie
Ghost
Silence used to be a place I could hide.
This silence isn’t that.
This one presses. It crowds the inside of my skull until even my thoughts feel watched. I can feel the room leaning, listening for which of us will speak next – even though I know better than to believe sound matters.
They’re not listening for noise,Donnelly says calmly.They’re listening for rupture.
I don’t like this,Silas whines.I don’t like being this close to everyone. Too many edges.
I sit with my back straight because if I let myself curl inward, I don’t know which of us will come back up. My hands rest on my knees, palms down, anchoring. The floor is cool. Smooth. Real.
Real matters.
Across the room, Hatchet is shaking again – not panicked, controlled. That’s new. He’s learning how to let it happen without feeding it. Silas approves. Donnelly wants to scream at him to hit something.
Honey keeps watching everyone like he’s counting us to make sure we’re still here. Every time his gaze lands on me, it lingers too long.
He’s worried I’ll disappear.
He’s not wrong,Donnelly mutters.
Snow stands with his back half-turned, eyes sharp, posture exact. He’s measuring time again. I can feel it. The way his attention keeps slipping, recalibrating. He doesn’t trust the clock anymore.
Bones shifts on the bench and winces despite himself. Pain spikes ripple through him like quiet lightning. I feel it anyway. I always do.
That’s the problem with proximity. Isolation kept us clean. Separate. Distinct. Together, our edges bleed.
Hunger gnaws at me differently than it does the others. It doesn’t scream. It erases. Thoughts drift mid-sentence. Images surface without context. I catch myself staring at the wall, convinced something is written there that I need to read.
Focus,Donnelly barks.Anchor.
I press my thumb into my thigh until it hurts. The pain grounds me for half a second.
Then the room shifts.
Not physically. Attentively. It’s subtle, but I feel it the way you feel someone step too close behind you. The pressure behind my eyes builds, slow and insistent.
They’re checking.
