Page 118 of Operation: Defiance

Bare.

Cold.

Concrete.

My throat closes. I remember the way the chill crawled up through my bones and still hasn’t left. My muscles lock before I even make contact.

“Raine.” Asher’s voice is low, even. “Talk to me.”

“They took my shoes the first day. I’ve never been so cold.”

Asher goes very still. The hand holding the phone tightens, knuckles whitening for a heartbeat before he makes his fingers loosen again.

“They don’t get to take warmth from you again,” he says. His voice stays level, but something sharp hums beneath it. Not at me. At them. “Keep your heels on the bed. We can still get what we need.”

The promise settles over my skin like another layer of blanket.

My calves seize when I try to move. The memory doesn’t bloom this time, it clamps down, hard and fast. My toes curl inside the socks, bracing for a floor that isn’t there.

I drag in a breath. Then another. The mattress is soft under my palms. The air is warm. I can do this.

“Okay,” I whisper. My throat feels scraped raw. “Be quick.” The spell breaks enough that I can pull my feet back up. I plant them on the mattress, knees bent, socks still on. The relief is almost dizzying.

“Understood.”

I work the first sock off. The skin underneath is still so dry. So pale.

The second sock isn’t any easier.

Cool air hits my bare skin. Goosebumps rise in a heartbeat.

Asher doesn’t lift the camera yet. His hands rest on his thighs, empty. “You good?”

“Yes.” My feet feel small and exposed against the sheet. “Get my ankles too. Note the cold exposure and…whatever else you see.” I can’t narrate this bit. If I try, I’ll shut down.

“The shackles here were heavier,” Asher says as the camera shutter clicks. “Different material. Thick chain. Short.”

“They wanted me to know I couldn’t move on my own.”

Asher swears softly under his breath. “Okay. I’m done. You can put your socks back on.”

The relief coursing through me is like nothing I’ve ever felt. It’s too much. I shove it down deep until I have the words to unpack it.

“Emotional impact,” I whisper, “dehumanizing. The cold…I couldn’t…regulate. And the restraints…there were times they locked my ankles so tightly together, I couldn’t even stand.”

My throat locks up, tears spill from my eyes, and I use the arm of the sweatshirt to wipe them away.

“Asher.” My voice scrapes over my raw throat. “Next is⁠—”

He doesn’t reach for the camera. “We can take a break.”

If I stop now, I won’t start again. I know that in my bones.

“My face,” I say. Even the words feel exposed. “Neck. Temples. Get…what shows.”

“Okay.” He rises, slowly enough that I can track every inch. The phone stays at his side. “Do you want more light, or is this enough?”

“Enough.” Anything brighter and I’ll shatter.