Amanda’s hand tightened in my vest.
“They know my face,” she said.
“Yeah,” I said. “And now they know who stands in front of you.”
8
AMANDA
The first thing I noticed was the pressure on my wrists.
Plastic bit into my skin. It was tight and unyielding, pinning my hands behind me. I flexed my fingers and felt the bite deepen, sharp and real enough to make my breath stutter.
Zip ties.
Cold metal pressed against my back as I was shoved forward. The elevator doors slid shut with a soft, final sound, sealing us inside. Fluorescent light buzzed overhead, too bright, too white. The air smelled like disinfectant and something sour underneath it.
“Wait,” I tried to say.
The word didn’t come out right. It was muffled by a fabric that was in my mouth and knotted tightly behind my head.
My reflection stared back at me from the brushed steel wall. My red hair was pulled back tight, my eyes wide with fear, mouth parted in a breath I couldn’t quite finish. A girl who looked like me and wasn’t. A girl I should have helped.
Hands closed around my arms.
They were not gentle. Not frantic. Just firm, practiced pressure, fingers digging in like they knew exactly where to grip to keep me moving, but keep me under control. I stumbled,shoes scuffing metal, heart slamming into my chest so hard it hurt.
This wasn’t right.
I wasn’t supposed to be here.
The elevator didn’t move. No sense of rising or falling. Just the low mechanical hum vibrating through my bones, patient and endless.
I twisted, panic flaring hot and fast, but the grip on my arms tightened. One of the men holding my wrists laughed—quiet, bored, like this was routine
My chest locked.
I sucked in a breath and only got half of it, lungs stopping short like the air itself had decided I didn’t deserve the rest. My body knew what came next even if my mind refused to say it.
This was what freezing felt like.
The doors shuddered.
Metal parted slowly, deliberately, revealing a stretch of hallway that didn’t feel like an exit at all.
I tried to scream?—
—and my hands tangled in sheets instead of zip ties.
I bolted upright in the dark, a sound tearing out of me as my body finally remembered how to move. My wrists burned like the plastic was still there. My heart slammed against my ribs, breath coming in sharp, useless pulls before finally catching.
I quickly reached out my hands and felt fabric. Not metal.
I rotated my wrists slightly and let out a breath as I realized I was no longer restrained.
I dragged in a breath that actually reached my lungs and clutched the blanket, holding on like it was the only thing anchoring me to the bed. I pressed my feet into the mattress, trying to feel the give of it, the softness. Tried to count, inhale,exhale, the way Doc had told me earlier. My chest refused to cooperate. Each breath scraped shallow and sharp, like my lungs were afraid to open all the way.
I dragged a hand down my face, grounding myself in sensation. The warmth of my skin. The ache in my throat from screaming. The faint sting in my palms where my nails had dug in.
