To escape.
For all of us.
I am not going to disappear in a room like this. I am not going to let them hollow me out and turn me into another empty-eyed shape on the floor.
I’ll find the cracks in their system, the overlooked girl, the predictable routine, the blind corner, the guard who thinks we’re too frightened, too broken to try. Whatever it is.
For too long, I’ve been running from the inevitable. Chasing things that felt unattainable, doing whatever it took just to survive.
But this is where that ends.
Iwillclaw my way out of here, dragging every woman I can with me, even if it costs me everything I have left.
Because I have a life to live and it ismine.
I refuse—down to my marrow—to let men who trade in fear and flesh decide how my story ends.
And I am not done fighting.
Chapter 45
Hours or minutes later—who’s to say—the metallic click of the lock comes first followed by the slow drag of heavy shoes across concrete. The sound slices through the room, and every woman reacts at once. A collective stillness, a shared inhale that seems to pull all the air out of our lungs.
I press myself further into the wall, cold seeping through my thin shirt, muscles tightening on instinct. Every sense sharpens, every nerve ending screamingready. My eyes never leave the door.
A small hatch at the bottom slides open with a practised clink. The noise feels louder than it should, obscene in the silence that follows. A tray of food is shoved through, if you can even call it that. Thin slices of bread, dry and curling at theedges, green fuzz creeping along the crust. Half a bottle of water for each of us. It hits the floor with a dull, uncaring thump.
My stomach twists hard, hunger clawing viciously, but I swallow it down. Hunger is a weakness here. So is gratitude.
The hatch slams shut, the lock clicks again and the footsteps retreat.
Silence settles back over us, thick and suffocating, but it’s different now. Charged, and yet no one moves. It’s like they’ve all learned that safety comes in pauses, in watching, in waiting to see what happens next.
My gaze drifts to the woman with the scar.
The jagged scar running from her eyebrow to her temple should make her look intimidating. Instead, when she looks around at the other girls, her expression softens. She offers a small smile, a single nod.
That’s all it takes for the girls to move. Slowly, carefully. No scrambling, no desperation. They follow her lead, collecting food with the quiet obedience of people who know panic is punished.
I edge closer, keeping my movements small, and cautious. “Are you alright?” I whisper, pitching my voice low enough that it barely carries.
She glances at me, the corner of her mouth lifting in something that almost resembles a smirk. “As alright as you can be in a place like this,” she murmurs. Her voice is rough, worn thin by time, but there’s steel underneath it. “I’m Alice.”
“Alice,” I repeat softly, anchoring it in my mind. Names matter, and saying them out loud feels like defiance in a place designed to erase us. My shoulders loosen a fraction.
She studies me then, one sharp, assessing sweep from the top of my head down to my bare feet. “And you are?”
“Lily.” I hesitate, then add quietly, “Do you know anything about them? The people running this?”
Her jaw tightens. She leans back against the wall, eyes narrowing, not at me, but at the room itself, as though weighing how much truth it can hold without cracking.
“Not much that stays useful,” she says eventually. “They rotate guards, change locations, switch rules just enough to keep you off balance.” Her gaze drifts, lingering on each girl in turn. “But the bones of it never change.”
A chill skates down my spine.
“How long have you been here?” I ask carefully.
She exhales through her nose, slow and measured. “Long enough to stop counting.” She pauses, then, quieter, “Ten years, give or take.”
