No water.
Of course.
Light burns my eyes. They left it on. They always do after a session—so you can’t disappear into sleep. So you have tostaywith what they did.
I test my fingers.
Swollen, but they move.
Barely.
But they move.
That means I’m alive.
Which means they’re not done.
I breathe in through my nose. Out through my mouth. Slow. Controlled. The way Ronan taught us. When the world was in chaos, the only thing you could command was yourself.
Control what you can. Endure the rest.
A sound drifts down the corridor.
Not footsteps.
A voice.
A scream—cut short.
My jaw tightens.
Someone else is paying now.
Because of me.
Guilt flares hot and vicious, but I crush it down. That’s what they want. That’s how they break you—by convincing you that surviving makes you guilty.
No.
If Ronan is alive—if that voice was real—then surviving isnecessary.
I tilt my head back against the stone and whisper the words I’ve been holding inside for months.
“Lieutenant Pierce… if you’re alive…”
My voice cracks.
“I’m still here.”
The lights buzz louder, like the dungeon itself is listening.
And for the first time since they dragged me into this hole—
I don’t feel alone.
32
Marcus
