Page 20 of Enslak

The tool touched the collar.

My heart hammered against my ribs. Every nerve screamed danger. Screamed threat. Screamed that I should move, should run, should do anything but sit here and let someone manipulate the one thing that could end me in an instant.

But I didn't move.

I trusted her.

I didn't know why. Didn't understand it.

But something in me, something deeper than thought, deeper than the broken fragments of my mind, knew she wouldn't hurt me. Knew she was trying to help.

So I sat.

And I didn't move.

The tool slipped into a seam in the collar I'd never noticed. She worked slowly. Carefully. Her breathing steady and controlled. I could hear her heartbeat, fast but not panicked. Focused.

Minutes passed.

Or maybe hours.

Time didn't work right anymore.

The tool shifted. Adjusted. Pressed. Released.

My neck ached from holding so still. My wounds throbbed. My muscles screamed for movement.

I didn't move.

Then, click.

A sound so small it was almost nothing.

But I felt it. Felt the collar loosen. Felt the weight that had been there for a century shift.

She worked faster now. Movements more confident. The tool clicked again. Another loosening.

Then the collar fell away.

It hit the floor with a clatter that seemed impossibly loud in the silence of the cell.

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't process what had just happened.

The collar was gone.

My hand moved to my neck. Touching bare pelt where metal had pressed for so long. The sensation was so foreign, so impossible, that my mind refused to accept it.

Free.

The word surfaced from somewhere deep. From before. From when I'd been something other than this.

Free.

The female made a sound. Relief, I thought. Though I couldn't be sure. She tucked the tool away and stood, then held out her hands to me.

I stared at those hands. Trying to understand what she wanted.

Then it clicked.