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I move slowly, every muscle tense, praying the table doesn’t creak. Rhett and Bianca’s voices continue their heated exchange, providing cover for my movements. I carefully swing my legs over the edge of the table.

I slide off the table, my bare feet touching the cold concrete floor. The chill shoots up my legs, grounding me, a sharp reminder I need to stay alert, stay quiet. Crouching low, I scan the dimly lit room, taking in every shadow, every possible escape route. Shadows dance across the walls, cast by the single bulb overhead, throwing distorted shapes around the space like ghostly figures ready to leap at me. My gaze darts frantically, searching for an exit, for any way out of this nightmare.

Slowly, I inch toward the door, my breath coming in shallow bursts. My pulse is in my throat, each beat reminding me how little time I have. Outside, Bianca’s voice rises sharply, her words slicing through the silence.

“Damn it, Rhett, you’re going to ruin everything!”

I freeze, my hand hovering inches from the doorknob. Did they hear me? Have I been discovered? Seconds stretch out painfully, ticking by like hours as I wait, poised to bolt, every muscle tense. My heartbeat thunders in my ears, so loud I worry it’ll betray me.

“Shh shh, shut up for a second,” Rhett snaps, his voice laced with irritation.

I don’t wait to hear more. With my heart hammering, I reach for the doorknob, forcing my hand to move slowly, carefully, to avoid any sound. The cool metal trembles beneath my palm, mirroring the tremors running through my body. I twist it with agonizing slowness, willing it not to squeak.

The door gives way, and I slip into the corridor, my body pressed low to the ground. I peer around, taking in the narrow hallway lined with doors on both sides. Each door looms like a silent sentinel, dark and foreboding. The air is stale, tinged with the metallic bite of rust and something else—something faintly sweet, but rotten, like flowers decaying. I stifle a shiver and inch forward, hoping to find a way out before anyone notices I’m gone.

The door next to the one I was held in stands slightly ajar, and I glance inside, seeing only shadows and the dim outline of shelves stacked with supplies. The corridor stretches on, empty for now, and I take a few cautious steps forward, each one measured and light as I hold my breath.

Then, the silence breaks—a soft shuffling of feet, the faint rustle of fabric. The noise stops me in my tracks, my heart leaping into my throat. Have they heard me? Are they coming?

I whip around, adrenaline surging, ready to bolt back into the room if I have to. No—the sound isn’t coming from beyond the corridor. It’s coming from behind me, inside the room next door.

I whirl around, pressing myself against the wall, and peer cautiously into the slightly open doorway. Bianca steps out, her eyes focused downward as she rummages through an oversized handbag. She doesn’t notice me; her attention is completely absorbed in whatever she’s looking for. My breath catches as she pulls out a small compact mirror and a metal petri dish, and I freeze, every muscle tensing.

What on earth…? I stare, rooted in place, my mind racing.

Bianca’s perfectly manicured nails click against the mirror as she flips it open. She turns slightly, angling herself toward the dim light, and begins applying a deep red lipstick with practiced precision. The sight is so surreal, so out of place, that I almost forget where I am, almost forget the danger. She’s standing there, just a few feet away, touching up her makeup in this grim, filthy hallway as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

My mind reels, trying to make sense of it. Is she really touching up her makeup at a time like this?

I take in her appearance, noting the almost absurd contrast between her carefully groomed face and the dank, decaying surroundings. Her hair is perfectly styled, cascading in soft waves over her shoulders, and her movements are delicate, elegant, as she applies lipstick with a steady hand. The deep crimson shade is striking against the gray concrete walls, as if she’s painting herself in blood.

She pauses, examining her reflection critically, and dabs a finger against the edge of her lip to smooth it out. The entire time, her expression remains cold, detached, as if she’s in her own little world. There’s no trace of worry, no sign she’s aware of the stakes at hand, of the twisted plan Rhett has laid out. To her, this is routine—a quick touch-up before continuing with whatever dark role she plays in this nightmare.

The casualness, the vanity of it—it’s unsettling. It makes her seem less human, as though she’s wearing a mask, painting herself into a character she’s decided to play. My skin prickles with unease. Here I am, fighting to survive, and she’s concerned with her appearance, with maintaining her façade of control and poise.

But then I realize—this is my chance. Bianca punches a code into a small keypad on the wall, and with a beep, I hear the heavy thunk of a lock releasing. My heart leaps as I see a door at the far end of the hallway shudder open, just an inch, barely enough to slip through. The door groans and stops, wide enough for a desperate escape but clearly heavy, reinforced.

“Well, while you deal with her, I’m going to visit my mother. I am not watching you claim another!” she snaps at Rhett, venom lacing her words. Her reflection is the only thing she’s focused on, her attention fully absorbed by the mirror.

The door is right there, mere steps away. The path to freedom.

I feel my muscles tense, every instinct urging me to run, to seize this fleeting opportunity. My heart pounds as I calculate the distance, my mind racing through all the ways this could go wrong. What if I’m not fast enough? What if she turns around before I reach it? What if Rhett is waiting just on the other side? Doubt gnaws at me, whispering that one mistake could mean the end. But I shake it off, steeling myself.

Now or never.

I lunge forward, my feet barely touching the ground as I race past Bianca, feeling the rush of air as I dart by her. She startles, her lipstick slipping, leaving a crimson smear across her cheek. Her gasp cuts through the air, sharp and indignant, but I don’t dare look back. My only focus is the door.

My hand slams against the heavy metal, and for a heart-stopping moment, my fingers fumble with the edge, slipping against the cold steel. Come on, come on! I grit my teeth, forcing the door open another inch, just enough to squeeze through. The hinges screech in protest, a piercing wail that shatters the silence, echoing down the corridor like an alarm.

I slip through the gap, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I stumble into the hallway beyond. It’s dimly lit, bathed in a sickly yellow glow from the flickering fluorescent lights overhead. My bare feet slap against the cold floor, sending shocks up my legs with every step. I barely register the rough concrete beneath me or the sting of the air against the raw skin of my wrists. All that matters is moving, running, getting away.

“Aubrey!” Rhett’s voice thunders behind me, a mixture of shock and unbridled fury. The sound is like a slap to my senses, sending ice through my veins. I push harder, legs pumping as I sprint down the corridor, my breaths ragged and desperate. Adrenaline surges through me, electric and raw, sharpening my senses to a razor’s edge.

The hallway twists and turns, narrow and dim, the walls closing in like a maze.

Every door I pass is locked, the handles cold and unyielding as I test them in vain, my panic mounting with each one. I can hear the pounding of footsteps behind me, fast and relentless, drawing closer with each passing second. Rhett’s anger crackles through the air, his voice echoing down the corridor.

“You think you can escape me?” His voice is pure rage, each word a promise of retribution. “You’re only making this worse for yourself, Aubrey!”