Not hope.
Fact.
A sound outside the door jerks my attention up immediately.
Footsteps.
Heavy.
Getting closer.
Then the door creaks open.
Light slices through the darkness hard enough to sting my eyes.
A man steps inside.
Tall.
Armed.
Watching me with the kind of confidence men get when they think someone’s already beaten.
Big mistake.
I stare right back at him.
No fear.
No pleading.
His eyes narrow slightly.
He says something in Farsi first.
I don’t answer.
Don’t blink either.
After a second, he switches to rough English.
“You are doctor.”
Not a question.
“Last I checked.”
My voice comes out rough from dehydration and dust.
Still steady.
Always steady.
He studies me another second before stepping closer.
“You help them,” he says slowly. “Now you help us.”
A humorless laugh almost escapes me.
