The darkness inside the room was absolute after he walked out. Hours bled together in the pitch black, leaving me with nothing but the damp chill of the concrete and my own spiraling thoughts. I had spent the entire afternoon and night shivering, tracking the time by how deeply the cold settled into my bones. The drugs they had injected into me were still humming under my skin, making my limbs feel like lead weights. Every single breath felt like a physical struggle.
Above me, the lone bulb dangling from the ceiling flickered, throwing long, distorted shadows across the wet walls.
My wrists burned. Every time I shifted against the heavy wooden chair, the rough fibers of the rope bit deeper into my raw skin. I kept my eyes pinned to the heavy iron door at the top of the stairs, praying silently. Asher is coming, I told myself, holding onto the memory of my husband's face like a lifeline. He will find me. He always does. I just have to hold on.
