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I feel it in my bones.
She’s here.
And this time…
She’s going to lose.
29
Saint
Consciousness comes back in pieces.
Cold concrete beneath my boots.
The taste of blood at the back of my throat.
A low mechanical hum somewhere nearby—steady, industrial. Machinery, maybe.
My head is pounding like I lost a fight with a truck.
I don’t open my eyes right away.
Rule one.
Never show them when you wake up.
My wrists are cuffed behind my back.
Metal digging into bone.
Chair.
Bolted to the floor.
Classic.
Someone wanted time.
I test the cuffs slowly.
Steel.
Heavy.
Industrial grade.
Not something picked up at a local hardware store.
Good.
That means she planned this.
Footsteps.
Two sets.
Heavy boots on concrete.
