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And he might be my father.
It feels insane to trust a single thing coming out of the loudspeaker above our heads. But it’s something I can’t let go of. I look over to Kir, and wonderwhat if.
What if the disembodied voice is telling the truth? What if the man I’ve looked to for guidance and considered family all these years isactuallymy blood?
It shouldn’t change anything, but—it does. There’s a shift inside me, a difference in how I see him, how I see myself.
Did he know? Has he always known?
I want to scream the question at him, but he’s too weak. Too far gone. His body is shutting down.
The urge to scream rises up in my chest, but I choke it down. I can’t show weakness. Not now, not to the monster that has us.
“I’m not doing it,” I rasp, my voice raw and broken. “I’m not killing him.”
The loudspeaker hisses back silence for a long, heavy moment. I wonder if the voice will even answer at all. Maybe they’ve finally given up, maybe they’ll just?—
The creak of metal grinds through the room as the small tray slides through the slot under the door. It’s the same every time: a half-rotted piece of bread, and a cup of water that looks like it was dredged from a fetid puddle. The sheer minimum to keep us alive.
Barely.
“We’ll try again tomorrow,” the voice says, smooth and unbothered. “We have all the time in the world.”
Dear God. The way the voice says it—the confidence, the patience.
It’s unnerving.
It tells me that whoever is behind that voice truly believes no one’s coming for us: that we’re completely alone here, tucked away in whatever hell they’ve created, where no one will ever find us.
I look at Hana. Her eyes are glassy, but there’s still an edge of determination in them. She hasn’t given up yet. Not completely. But I know she’s just as scared as I am. We both know what the voice means by “all the time in the world.”
No one’s coming.
The room is quiet except for Kir’s labored breathing and the occasional drip of water from somewhere in the walls. Hana and I don’t need to speak to understand what’s happening. Each day that passes, each day we deny the voice’s demand, we grow weaker. Kir grows weaker. Eventually, we won’t be able to refuse anymore. Or Kir will just die anyway.
Panic starts to creep in. But I force myself to stay calm. I can’t give in to the fear. Can’t let it take over.
Because deep down, in that part of me that still clings to hope, I know Mal is out there. I can feel it.
He’s coming.
He has to be.
46
MAL
Fuck.The farmhouse looks just as deserted as it did when I came here before.
Night still clings to the air, wrapping the place in a thick, heavy fog that presses against my skin, though I can just start to see the first glint of morning light creeping over the horizon.
I’m crouched low in the brush, my eyes locked on the crumbling structure. It’s been abandoned for years, left to rot like a festering wound on this desolate farm, but Jonas is here.
I can feel it.
My fists clench as I wait. The farmhouse door creaks open, and my breath stills.
It’s him.
