Hunger clawed at me. My stomach twisted and turned, knots of emptiness coiling with every passing hour. My throat was raw from thirst, my lips cracked and bleeding, and yet I refused to sleep. Sleep meant letting go, letting the darkness swallow me. I couldn't. Not yet.
The basement had grown colder with each day, and the shadows felt heavier, pressing against my skin. I stayed in my corner, knees to my chest, teeth gritted, trying not to cry or scream. My body trembled, weakness creeping into my limbs, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me break.
Night came again, bringing with it the familiar sound of Lorian's boots against the concrete. He appeared silently, standing in the dim circle of light that reached my corner.
"You should rest," he said, his voice low, almost casual.
I didn't respond. I didn't even flinch. I just hugged my knees tighter and stared at the floor, swallowing the sharp pangs of hunger and fear.
He lingered, watching, as though he expected me to flinch, to beg, to talk. But I gave him nothing.
Hours passed. I heard him move through the basement, the soft scrape of his boots across the floor, his presence a constant shadow. I refused to close my eyes, refusing to surrender to the weariness gnawing at me.
The next day, my body finally betrayed me. Exhaustion wrapped around me like a vice. I couldn't hold myself upright. My limbs refused to obey. My head dipped lower and lower until it rested against my knees. The room blurred around me, and then, mercifully, darkness claimed me.
When I woke, it wasn't the cold, damp basement. I wasn't pressed against the concrete floor. I blinked against soft light, my body warm, my skin unbruised.
I was in a bed. Sheets soft against my skin, pillows fluffy beneath my head. The room smelled faintly of clean linen, of flowers, of something human, alive. I tried to speak, but my throat ached too much. My stomach twisted—not with hunger this time, but with relief, disbelief, and something else I couldn't name.
Somewhere nearby, I thought I heard footsteps. Quiet, careful. But when I turned, the room was empty.