I flinched as a hand settled lightly on my shoulder. My stomach dropped, my muscles tensing as every instinct screamed at me to curl tighter into myself.
"I can't kill you," Lorian said quietly, his voice low, calm, almost intimate—but there was no warmth in it. Only that cold, measured calm that made your blood run thin.
I kept my face pressed into my knees, not moving, not answering. The basement was still, silent, except for the faint hum of the concrete walls and my own ragged breathing. My body shook, but I didn't dare let him see it.
He pulled his hand away slowly and stepped back into the shadows, leaving me alone. But the weight of his presence lingered, like a shadow pressing down on me even in his absence.
I hugged my knees tighter, letting the tears fall silently. I had made my choice. I had said I would die, and I had done it so that the others would be free. Now, all that was left was waiting. Waiting in the darkness, listening to the silence press in from every corner.
I thought of the others, somewhere far away now, untied, disoriented, probably terrified—but alive. I had kept them safe. That knowledge should have been comforting, but it wasn't. Not really. Instead, it left a hollow ache in my chest, a reminder that I was still here, alone, at the mercy of someone who didn't care.
Hours passed—or maybe it was minutes—I couldn't tell. Time had lost all meaning in the basement. Shadows shifted as the dim light from a single bulb overhead flickered, and I felt the cold concrete seep into my bones. My stomach twisted, my hands tingled with hunger and fatigue, but I stayed where I was, quiet, waiting, silent.
Finally, I allowed myself to look up, slowly, carefully. The room was empty. The shadows stretched like long fingers across the walls, but there was no movement. Only the soft drip of water somewhere in the far corner, echoing faintly through the cold, oppressive space.
I hugged my knees tighter and pressed my forehead against them. My mind wandered, tracing the last moments with the others. Their muffled whispers, their fearful eyes, the way they had all glanced at me as if silently asking if this was really my choice. I had no answer for them. Only the plan I had crafted, and the knowledge that it had worked so far.
And yet… I couldn't stop imagining Lorian's gaze on me. That calm, controlled expression, the almost imperceptible flicker of something beneath it—curiosity? Amusement? Something darker? I shivered, letting my hands cover my face.
The basement door creaked, faintly, almost as if it were breathing. My heart slammed in my chest, and I froze. Every muscle tightened, every instinct screaming. I pressed myself further into the corner, hugging my knees, hiding, and waited.
The door opened. A sliver of night air cut across the floor, cold and sharp. My breath caught, but I stayed still. There was no sound, no motion beyond the shadow of the doorway.
I could feel him there. Watching. Measuring. Waiting.
I let the tears flow freely, silently, letting the cold floor and the darkness hold me. My chest ached from the fear, the hunger, the weight of what I had chosen to do. I thought of the others—safe, somewhere far away—and I let myself feel a small, secret satisfaction. My plan had worked.
Even as I cried quietly, I realized something terrifying. I was still alive. Alone. And the next move—whatever it was—would be entirely his.
I pressed my face harder into my knees, letting the sobs shake through me. The basement was silent once more, oppressive and endless. But deep down, beneath the fear, beneath the exhaustion, a single thought refused to die:
I wasn't finished yet.