1
SELENE
Itrace a finger over the mortar between the bricks in the wall, a path I’ve traced so many times before that it’s worn down smooth. Once upon a time I thought that if I did it often enough, I could dig my way out of here. Wear the brick and mortar down a little at a time until it gave way to sunlight.
Sunlight. I don’t remember what it looks like anymore.
It’s been quiet all day, which is unusual. Father didn’t even bring me breakfast, and now my stomach is growling. He’s never missed bringing me a meal since he locked me in here.
How long ago now? My gaze flicks back to the wall, where I used to leave tiny scratches to mark the time passing, but then I realized how pointless that was and I stopped. Surely it’s been years. Ihopeit’s been years, because that’s what it’s felt like in here. Years of my lifespent looking at these walls, knitting blankets, imagining the world going by outside.
I begged him for a while to let me out, but it fell on ears that would never hear me. He truly believes he’s doing right by me. And maybe the world out there is so harsh, so full of sin and vice and evil, that it’s better for me in here.
But I don’t really think so. Nothing could be worse than here.
My stomach grumbles again a bit later, and I stand up to knock on the door, which is locked from the outside.
“Father!” I call out. “I’m hungry. Can you bring me something?”
Usually, if I ask very nicely, he’ll get what I ask for as long as it’s not something I could escape with. I did try carving at the inside of the door with a knife once, so he hasn’t given me one since. I have to eat chewy meat with my hands and a fork.
There’s no response. I try a few more times, knocking louder on the door and calling out. After an hour or two, though, I stop to save my energy.
What if something happened to him? A vagrant, like he often talks about, or perhaps one of those wandering, vicious alphas.
I expected more of a lurch in my gut at the idea that he might be dead. That someone has killed him, or worse, beaten him and taken his things and then killed him.
But I don’t. I feel nothing—except for the part where I am now trapped inside this room with no way out.
Time passes.I wait on the off-chance that Father was simply out for the whole day, something he’s never done before. I wait until the gnawing hunger is inescapable, and then I beat on the door some more, calling his name.
No one comes.
After sleeping in the corner for a few more hours, I find the door hasn’t budged. Now my hunger is a yawning pit inside me, an ache that won’t go away. And who knows how long it’s been since I had water?
I can’t keep waiting. He may never come for me. I’m going to have to get myself out of here, somehow.
I have the last plate Father brought me, so I wedge that in the door and try to push it through the lock. But the plate just breaks, and all I’m left with is the fork.
After trying with the fork for another hour, all the tines are bent and that, too, has become useless to me. Frustrated, I get up and bang on the door, again and again, screaming for someone to come. Anyone. A bandit. An alpha.
I’ll take any of them.
I yank on the handle, but there’s no give. I hit it hard, and the wooden door remains firm. So I bring up one leg and kick it as powerfully as I can, in a way I’ve never done before. If I made noise, Father would always check it out, so I didn’t dare do something like this.
Surely he’ll come if I’m this loud.
When my foot strikes the door, I’m shocked by how much it hurts. The door rattles, but doesn’t budge. I take a few deep breaths because moving this much has been taxing on my body, and then kick again. Again, it hurts, but I can’t care. I have to escape this place before I die here.
I kick once more, with all the force I can muster, and the hingebends. Gasping, I fall to the floor, spent. But now I know—I can hurt it. I might have a chance.
After regaining my breath, once more I climb to my feet and kick with my other foot. It’s less graceful but, to my surprise, more powerful. The upper hinge bends this time.
I kick and kick, then rest, then kick some more until my whole body is sore. The hinges break slowly but surely, and no one comes to stop me.
I’m weak by the time the first hinge snaps off. That renews my energy, and I kick again—as hard as I possibly can—and the second hinge gives way.
I shriek with joy when it goes down, revealing a hallway I haven’t seen for who knows how long. My house. The house I used to live in with Father before he locked me in here. There’s light, so much light, and it’s so bright that it nearly blinds me compared to the dim candlelight I’ve lived with.
