What if we’re already too late?
The question hits like a knife between the ribs.
Sharp.
Fast.
Brutal.
I stare out into the darkness again, jaw locked tight enough to ache.
No.
I refuse to believe that.
Because Hannah’s still out there.
Alive.
Fighting.
Waiting.
And I’m bringing her home.
6
Hannah
The lights never turn off.
That’s the first thing I notice after a while.
Not bright enough to fully light the room.
Not dim enough to forget they’re there.
Just enough to wear a person down slowly.
Intentional.
Everything about this place feels intentional.
I sit against the wall with my knees drawn slightly up, listening to footsteps move somewhere beyond the steel door.
Voices drift in and out occasionally.
Different accents.
Different rhythms.
At least six men from what I’ve counted so far.
Maybe more.
Hard to tell with concrete walls echoing sound.
My shoulder aches where the rifle hit me earlier.
