The next centimeter comes more easily than the first. Then an inch. Then my whole palm is grasping the handle and pulling the shovel through, a splinter catching in my thumb.
A victorious pop leaps from my mouth—half laugh, half cry—as I stand and sling the shovel over my shoulder. Weapon first, tool second.
“I get what you’re doing!” I yell. Though I’m not sure who I’m talking to.
My eyes search the black beyond the bars.Silent. Still.But I picture eyes watching me from the darkness. Or a computer.
“Show yourself, you coward!”
The shovel jerks as I pivot. Shadows dance in the candlelight and pull my attention toward nothing, imagined threats as disorienting as the drugs.
I wait a minute.
Then another.
But, of course, no one comes. And no one will. That’s why they left the shovel.
Another splinter stings my palm as I grip the handle and slam the shovel down, metal clanging against rock and dirt.
“I’m not playing your fucking games!”
This time, I don’t wait for a response. I find a spot by the wall and fold myself down, arms cinched around my knees. Heartbeat thudding in my ears.
Here’s what I know.
Whoever built this cell didn’t bother with a door. They lit candles but left no lighter.
There’s no food basket in the corner. No jugs of water anywhere.
I woke up on rock that fades into loose dirt near the bars. A shovel left just within reach.
There’s no room to question what I’m supposed to do.
But is this agame? Or atest?
If it’s a game, I’m designed to lose. If it’s a test, I’m not sure I want to pass.
So I just wait—part pride, part stubbornness pinning me to the cave floor. Maybe a half hour passes while I watch a candle burn. Maybe longer. Maybe less. Every minute stretches, contracts, distorts itself until time is only measured by the melting wax.
Occasional sounds come from down the cave, but I’m not convinced they’re human. Just the slow drip of water into a puddle and the skitter of rodents.
I try not to imagine what my father would say if he saw me now. Cold and pathetic and cowardly. He spent years drilling bravery, strength, intelligence into me, preparing me for a day as dark as this. And here I am again, wasting adrenaline.
I try not to hear his voice… but it comes anyway.
Why are you just sitting there?
I stand, pace the cell, spiral through every scenario that might be waiting outside this cave. The longer I think, the faster my heart beats, the shorter the candle burns.
Cold sweat clings to cashmere and vacuum seals it to my chest. A sweater I know I wasn’t wearing when I fell asleep.
I try not to think about what that means, who might’ve been the one to undress me out of my night shorts and top as I slept, then had the foresight to redress me in warm clothes.
I pause, close my eyes, tilt my head back.
“Screw it.”
Today my captor gets what he wants.
