Then he was gone, the door sealing shut behind him with a cold, final click.
I stared blankly at the cracked wall.
The silence pressed in.
Finn was alive.
But for the first time since that night in the alley,
I couldn’t reach him.
And that terrified me more than anything.
It took me five seconds to explore the room. Five seconds to let the stark, sterile walls and the hum of artificial light settlearound me. The room was too neat, too perfect, and I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. It felt like a place meant for keeping people inside, not for them to live in. There was no soul here. No trace of anyone who cared.
But it was safe. It was dry. It was... better than the streets.
Except for the fact I was a prisoner.
I moved toward the small bathroom attached to the cell. The door opened with an automatic click, revealing a small, pristine space. The walls were white, the floor a clean tile, and there was a toilet and a shower in the corner, a gleaming silver fixture that looked as if it had never been used. I stood in front of it for what felt like an eternity, my mind racing.
It had no knobs. No familiar buttons or levers. Just a smooth, cold surface. How was I supposed to make it work? Was there some trick I was missing? I’d never used a shower before—not like this.
I reached out tentatively, but it was useless. I didn’t know how to work this thing.
But that wasn’t the worst part. There no windows to the outside world. I could have been underground, for all I knew. It was suffocating.
I moved away from the shower, my feet dragging, and sat on the cold floor of the bathroom, the plate of food in my hands. The meal was simple, but it looked far better than anything I’d eaten in years. A warm stew, meat, vegetables, bread—everything that had been lacking in my life for far too long. My body had learned to make do with scraps and raw food, to survive without the comfort of a proper meal.
Now, the plate in my hands felt too much like luxury. The food looked too perfect. Like it didn’t belong to someone like me. I wasn’t sure how to deal with it. My stomach churned inprotest, but hunger gnawed at me relentlessly. Slowly, I brought the spoon to my mouth.
The warmth spread through me almost immediately. The meat, soft and tender, melted on my tongue. The flavours were rich, comforting in a way I couldn’t quite comprehend. I hadn’t had a meal like this in... years. Maybe longer.
I don’t know how long I sat there. It didn’t take long for boredom to settle in like a fog. The silence was oppressive, the sameness of the walls maddening. I paced. Sat. Paced again. Every second seemed to stretch, each minute dragging like it had nowhere else to be.
I was starting to lose track of time, my thoughts fraying at the edges, when a sudden hiss cut through the stillness. The shower burst to life on its own, a powerful spray of steam and water filling the room.
I blinked at it in surprise.
A timer? Some kind of motion sensor?
It didn’t matter.
I moved quickly, stripping off the last of my worn clothes, save for the necklace that I never removed. I stepped under the stream quickly, before it decided to turn off again. The heat hit me like a wave—startling at first, then achingly good. I let out a quiet breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
Water rushed over me, hot and steady, and the grime of the last few days—or maybe weeks—began to melt away. Dirt pooled at my feet, swirling with old blood in thin red and black ribbons. It felt wrong, watching it go. It was like pieces of who I was were being carried down the drain.
There were bottles neatly lined on a small shelf—clear liquids that smelled like flowers and honey. I hesitated, then picked one up. The scent made my head spin.
Vanilla? And honey?
It was overpowering, but delicious and light. I inhaled it like it was a drug. I lathered the soap over my arms, my legs, scrubbing away the filth until my skin burned. I washed my hair twice, the strands catching between my fingers, tangled and rough. I stayed there longer than I needed to, letting the warmth seep into my bones, into the parts of me that had been cold for far too long.
When they finally shut the water off, I stood for a moment, water dripping from my hair, unsure what came next. I had been given everything I’d needed—warmth, food, shelter. It should’ve made me feel safe.
But it didn’t.
It made me feelwatched.
