Her good eye filled with tears.
They spilled slowly down her bruised cheek.
“...You came...” she whispered.
That shattered me.
“Yes,” I breathed. “I came.”
A thick string of saliva mixed with blood dripped from her ruined mouth. It hung for a second before falling onto her torn dress.
She swallowed it back with visible effort, her throat working painfully as if even that simple movement cost her everything.
She shook her head — small, frantic — like she wished I hadn’t seen her like this.
Like she was ashamed.
“Please...” Her voice cracked, barely more than a whisper dragged from shredded lungs. “...end me.”
The words hit me harder than a bullet.
I froze.
Then I shook my head violently. “No. No, no, Elena.”
Her swollen lips trembled.
“I’ve been...” She swallowed again. Her teeth clacked faintly together as fresh blood welled at the corners of her mouth. Her body shuddered from the effort of speaking. “...on the run... for years. Never resting. Hiding... evading... Ruslan’s men...”
Her good eye — the one that wasn’t swollen shut — filled with tears.
“I... just want to die.”
The desperation in her voice shattered something inside my chest.
I reached for her.
My hands cupped her face — gently. So gently. As if she were made of glass and might crack beneath my touch. My thumbs brushed away tears that carved clean lines through dirt and dried blood on her cheeks.
“You’re not dying,” I whispered fiercely. My voice trembled but my words were iron. “Not here. Not ever. I’m getting you out.”
She stared at me.
Exhausted. Unbelieving.
Like hope was a language she had forgotten how to understand.
Then her head dropped forward again, shoulders sagging against the ropes that bound her to the broken chair.
She had stopped fighting.
Not because she wanted to — but because she simply had no strength left to fight.
Tears blurred my vision. Hot. Relentless.
They fell so heavily they dropped onto the cold concrete floor like shattered fragments of my restraint.
My throat tightened until it felt sealed shut.
