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Both shoulders dripped blood down my forearms as the skin ground into the rough stones.
That’s right, just breathe.
I ran my fingers along the wall in front of me, continuing the back-and-forth motion.
Wait a minute! This isn’t desert rock.
My fingertips feathered over the rough stones. They were flat, slightly rough, with mortar in between. I traced the outline of the mortar. Each large block was surrounded by grout—concrete blocks. I traced the wall all the way to the edge.
A cool, smooth material met my fingers. I traced it up and around the entire square and then curled my fingers into a fist and knocked against the strange, slick material.
Clank! Clank!
A metal door, no wider than a foot, was at my front. This wasn’t a cave. This was a cell for a prisoner.
I stilled my rocking motion.
What the hell happened? Where am I?
Breathe, one, two, three.
Logan is dead. I am cursed.
Exhale one, two, three.
Focus on what is right in front of me. I sighed and leaned my head against the concrete block wall.
This feels like torture.
I jerked my head up.
This is torture. No one puts you in a tiny cell and freezes you unless they want to torture you.
My body shuddered again.
I closed my eyes and focused. If there is anything, any light inside me, please, I need you. I’m so cold. I’m so lost.
“Help, please,” I yelled into the darkness.
Silence.
“No one is coming, are they?”
Silence.
The sound of my voice echoed against the walls before it died into small reverberations.
I curled back into a ball and laid my head on my knees.
Dad won’t worry about me for another six days. Not that he’d find me in this hole. Wherever this is.
If only I had Logan’s warmth to curl into.
My breath hitched.
Logan.
His body was mangled. His breathing wasn’t breaths—it was only gasps. And I didn’t stop it. I knew what was going to happen. I should’ve made him leave. I could’ve tried harder. I should’ve tried harder.
