In.
Out.
My eyes adjust by slow, miserable degrees. Enough to make out shadows. A low ceiling. Concrete floor. A metal shelving unit to my left with shapes stacked on it. Boxes, maybe. A rolling door ahead, edges outlined in the thinnest seam of gray light.
Closed.
Of course it’s closed.
I push myself upright. My shoulder protests hard enough to make me wince. My head spins. I swallow against the dizziness and make myself stay still until the room stops tilting.
Think.
Think.
The alley.
Footsteps.
The hood.
That voice.
Cole.
My stomach drops so hard it feels like falling.
Right.
This is real.
This is happening.
My heart tries to climb up my throat and choke me from the inside out. My chest tightens. My pulse slams. The room feels too small, too dark, too close.
No.
No, no, no…
“Evie,” I whisper.
My voice is cracked and small, but saying her name puts one thing back into the world.
I close my eyes for half a second.
“Evie, I need you.”
The words leave me like a prayer. Shaky. Barely there. Ridiculous and necessary all at once.
I picture her anyway, her warm hands. Sharp eyes. Kindness with teeth.
I picture the way she always made softness feel stronger than anyone expected.
I hold onto that.
Not because it fixes this, but because I will not let fear hollow me out before he even gets back.
A scrape of metal cuts through the room.
