You’ve lost track of time. There are no clocks in this room, no windows, nothing to tell you how long you’ve been here. Just darkness, stretching endlessly, broken only by him.

He comes in when he feels like it. Sometimes, he tosses an apple onto the floor, like you’re some kind of stray animal. Sometimes, he touches you. Sometimes, he just stands there, watching, silent.

You used to scream. You used to fight. Not anymore. You’ve learned to survive in this twisted, suffocating silence.

But then—it happens.

He’s on the phone, distracted, careless. And for the first time, he forgets to lock the door.

You don’t hesitate.

Your legs are weak, your head is spinning, but you force yourself forward. Out of the room, down the dark hallway, down the stairs. The pounding of your heart is deafening, but it doesn’t matter. Your only thought is freedom.

You run like a girl.

Fast. Reckless. Desperate. The cold air burns your lungs as you push yourself, your feet stumbling over the pavement, but you don’t stop. Your body moves on pure instinct, every step a promise of escape, every breath a fight for your life.

Then—headlights.

Bright. Blinding. A car speeding toward you. Tires screech, the smell of burning rubber filling the air as it comes to a sudden stop. You freeze, your heart threatening to burst out of your chest, but it’s too late to retreat now.

The door swings open.

And then you see him.

Rafe Cameron.

Of course, you know him. Everyone does. The rich kid from Figure Eight, always acting like he’s above everyone else. The smug look, the entitlement. He’s not the best, but better than the man you escaped.

“What the hell—” His eyes scan over you, flicking over your bruised body, your fear-stricken face. “Are you okay?”

You’re not. But you nod anyway. You don’t trust your voice enough to speak.

He exhales sharply, his gaze softening for a moment. “Get in.”

Rafe Cameron isn’t a hero. He’s far from it. But right now, he’s the closest thing you’ve got to salvation.

So you do. You get in.