The breeze hit her face, fresh, free, almost mocking.
"I swear, when you come back...." she started, only to cut herself off with a sharp exhale as she leaned against the railing.
Her hand moved instinctively to her abdomen.
Still there.
Still safe.
Her anger softened for a single moment.
Just one moment.
Then it returned, hotter than before.
"This wasn't one week," she muttered, glaring out at the endless fields. "This is imprisonment."
Behind her, the room remained exactly as it had been.
Unchanged.
Controlled.
Waiting.
And Daniella.....
No longer weak.
No longer passive.
Was beginning to feel something new stir beneath the frustration.
Not fear.
Not helplessness.
But something far more dangerous.
Restlessness.
And the quiet, growing urge…
To break the rules.
By the third week, the restlessness had stopped being quiet.
It had teeth now.
