But who—and why?And where the hell were they now?
She strained to listen.No footsteps.No voices.No movement overhead.
Shifting her weight, she tried again to push herself upright, the motion sending her head swimming and her bound ankles tangling beneath her as she tipped sideways across the dirt floor—
—and jerked back with a strangled gasp.
Maya lay barely a foot away.
Wrists bound, eyes glassy and vacant, mouth hanging slightly open.
“Maya?”Cassie whispered hoarsely.“Maya, it’s me—Connor’s sister.”
Maya didn’t blink.Didn’t move.Didn’t breathe.
A spike of cold slithered through Cassie, and she jerked backward, heels digging uselessly into the dirt as the zip ties bit into her wrists and ankles.She hit the wall hard enough to knock the air from her lungs and stayed there for a second, stunned, staring across the cellar floor at Maya’s eerily still face.
Maya was dead.
Maya was fucking dead.
But the thought wouldn’t stick.She kept staring anyway, waiting for something to change, waiting for Maya to blink or take a breath.
Only she never did.
Jesus Christ—Jesus-fucking-shit—Maya was dead and here she was trussed up like a fucking turkey on the floor of some underground hellhole with no idea who had put her there, whether they were still nearby, or what they planned to do with her…
Panic surged so fast it nearly took her under.Cassie pressed her lips together, dragging in air through her nose, fighting the spin in her head and the wild, animal urge to start screaming.
Think, Cassie.Think!
She took in the rest of the cellar in quick, jerking pieces.Packed dirt floor.Low ceiling.A ladder that, even if she could stand, she wasn’t sure she could reach.She stared at it, trying to judge the height of the last rung.
No tools.No shovel.No rusted hooks, no glass to break.Nothing she could reach that might help cut through these goddamn zip ties.
Her eyes found Maya again, her jaw clenching hard.
She didn’t want to do it…but what choice did she fucking have?
Dragging herself across the dirt, more of a shove and wriggle than a crawl, and—without looking at Maya’s face—she started patting her down as best she could.Hoodie pockets first, dumping out the contents—a wad of damp napkins and a crushed pack of cigarettes.
“Come on,” Cassie muttered, voice ragged and pleading.“Come on.”
She fumbled over Maya’s jeans pockets next, searching the front, then the back.Nothing.Down her pant legs, she twisted off each sneaker.Nothing else.No knife.No key.Nothing sharp at all.
Goddammit.All she needed was something to cut or burn—
Cassie jerked back to the crushed cigarettes, ripping open the soft pack and spilling the contents onto the dirt floor—a half-empty book of matches tumbling out alongside several partially smoked cigarettes.
She snatched the matches up, fumbling the cover open and nearly dropping the whole thing before managing to pinch a single match free, her hands shaking badly enough that she had to stop and steady them.
With her wrists bound tight together, she dragged the match pitifully across the striker.
Swearing under her breath, Cassie adjusted her grip and tried again, pressing harder this time.The match flared suddenly to life, and she hurried to angle it toward the zip tie—
—only for the flame to burn down against her fingers before she got anywhere close enough.
Hissing, she dropped it and immediately fumbled for another, only for the next match to snap clean in half between her trembling fingers.
