I don't want to see their faces.
"Yes, sir," a few say at the same time.
Ewan begins to walk toward the door. His polished shoes pass through my narrowed field of vision.
"You." Ewan's voice sharpens, aimed at someone beyond the doorway. "Stay here. See to it that she finishes. She doesn't leave until every last piece is off this floor."
A pause.
Then footsteps enter the room before the door closes.
Silence floods the space.
The urge to cry rises like a wave, threatening to pull me under. I shove it down. Bury it. I'm not alone anymore. I can feel the guard's attention pressing against my spine like a physical weight.
I refuse to acknowledge him, reaching for more glass instead. My hands are slick now, blood making everything slippery, fingers trembling as shards bite deeper into skin that's already shredded. I'm starting to lose count at this point, but there's still so much shining glass everywhere. I have no idea how I'm going to get all of it.
Another piece. Alone slice.
I lean into the sting, letting it drown out everything else. Hale's empty room. The silent loft waiting upstairs. Ewan's voice still reverberating through my skull.
The guard moves closer.
Close enough that his boots enter my line of sight.
I don't look up because if I do, I may see pity or disgust or something worse on his face. Maybe even nothing at all. And whatever I see will break me open.
I can't afford that here.
I reach for a sliver so small it's almost invisible.
It drags across my fingertip like a razor.
That's when I finally look up.
His hands are curled into fists at his sides. Knuckles white. Tendons straining beneath skin. The balaclava covers most of his face, but his eyes are visible. A deep shade of brown.
They're locked onto my hands like he physically cannot look away.
I didn't expect to find rage there.
Barely leashed and burning so hot I can feel it radiating off him from three feet away.
He doesn't move.
Doesn't speak.
Just stands there, trembling with the effort of staying still while blood drips from my fingers onto the floor.
I should look away. Should finish this nightmare before Ewan returns and finds a new way to torture me.
But something in his eyes won't let me.
After a few beats I manage to tear my gaze away and reach for more glass. I don't know how much time has passed when I finally grab the last piece and hold it up.
"Done," I whisper, pressing my bleeding hands against my dress as I force myself to my feet.
Everything hurts. My knees almost give out, but I refuse to let myself fall here—in front of this guard or the cameras.
