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My entire body goes rigid and cold.
I missed them.
I was fuckingright there, and I missed them.
All I can think about is Freya screaming.
“Thank you, Oren,” I manage to grind out before I hang up, my face a mask of death.
I missed them at that godforsaken fucking place the first time. This time, I’m going to tear the place apart brick by brick.
45
FREYA
“Good morning.”
I flinch, shuddering as the staticky voice crackles over the loudspeaker, cutting through the silence like a blade.
I swallow the rasping dryness in my throat, blinking awake to the same dull, dim light that’s been on since we got here. Nearby, Hana’s eyes open, her blonde hair limp, her face waxy, the purplish circles under her eyes growing.
“Hana—”
“I’m fine,” she mumbles curtly, forcing a weak smile.
But she’s not. None of us are.
I get up and walk over to check on Kir.Oh God…
He’s not doing well. At all. His face already looks like he’s halfway into the grave, and he can barely lift his head off the ground anymore. I’ve lost track of how long we’ve been in here. Three days? Four?Five?
Long enough that if Kir stays here much longer, he’s going to die.
That’s not “letting negativity in” or “giving up hope”. That’s reality. Hana and I have done what we can for the wound on his side, but he’s lost a ton of blood, it’sdefinitelyinfected, and we don’t have anything to clean it with. The small amount of water that gets slid once a day through the little slat at the bottom of the door to this room, along with some grimy looking food, is basically putrid.
I glance back over to Hana, slumped against the wall, looking…gray. Was it the water? The food? The stale air in here? Whatever it is, she’s not well. Her eyes have had a listless look since yesterday, and the perspiration on her forehead tells me the fever hasn’t gone down either.
I try and push my anxiety down as I turn back to Kir. I peel the shirt away from his wound, my nose wrinkling at the smell.
Heneedsa doctor. Like, yesterday. So does Hana.
After I adjust Kir to make him comfortable, I head to the bucket in the far, dim corner of the room. After I pee, I shuffle back over to Hana to check on her. She weakly waves me off.
“I’m fine, Frey.”
I grit my teeth. She gives me a look that says “I know you don’t believe me, but please leave it.”
So I do. For now.
“Let’s try this again, shall we?”
We both flinch at the tinny voice from the speaker in the ceiling. It’s the same grating tone I’ve heard every morning for the past however many days we’ve been in here, always followed by the same demand, the same twisted promise. But today… Something’s different. The words feel heavier. Colder. Darker.As if even the disembodied voice has grown tired of its sick game.
I shiver on the stone floor, the cold seeping into my bones. My gaze shifts to Kir, slumped against the damp wall. He’s barely conscious, his breathing shallow and uneven. His skin gleams with a sickly sheen, the infection spreading faster than I anticipated. Every cough, every ragged breath feels like it’s chipping away at what little time we have left with him.
Hana frowns beside me. She’s tried to stay strong, but I can see it in her eyes—the fear, the helplessness. Every day the voice asks me to do the unthinkable. Every day, I refuse.
I glance at Kir again, my heart twisting in my chest. This man gave me a second chance at life. A purpose beyond just stealing to survive. I’ve admired him, respected him, and loved him for years.
