I woke slowly, consciousness rising in yers.

  First the cold.

  Then the stiffness in my back.

  Then the faint hum of the overhead light that never seemed to turn off.

  The concrete beneath me was unforgiving as always. I shifted and pulled the thin bnket tighter around my shoulders, the fabric scratchy but better than nothing. It still carried that sterile, warehouse smell.

  I yawned weakly and pushed myself upright against the wall, back pressing into the hard surface for support. My joints ached from sleeping curled up.

  I rubbed my hands together for warmth, breathing into them, watching the faint tremble in my fingers.

  This had become routine.

  Wake up.

  Wait.

  Listen for the door.

  Count the seconds between the hum of the light and my own heartbeat.

  "I wonder what Car's doing," I muttered quietly to the empty room.

  The thought felt dangerous.

  My chest tightened immediately.

  Was she searching? Was she hurt? Was she bming herself?

  Or worse—

  Was she gone?

  "I hope she's alive..." I whispered, the words fragile.

  The idea of her not being out there fighting for me was unbearable. Not because I doubted her strength—but because the world we lived in didn't forgive strength.

  I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, squeezing tight.

  If I closed my eyes just enough...

  It almost felt like holding her.

  Like her arms were around me instead.

  Like her warmth was real and not imagined.

  I pressed my forehead to my knees and breathed slowly, pretending the steady rise and fall was hers, not mine.

  "Come back to me," I murmured under my breath.

  The room stayed silent.

  But I held on to the image anyway.

  Because it was the only thing keeping the cold from reaching all the way inside me.

  Just as I shifted slightly, the metal door swung open with its usual hollow groan.

  I flinched automatically.

  The same woman stepped in—steady boots, measured movements—holding a metal tray. Steam curled faintly from a bowl of soup, a thick roll of bread resting beside it.

  Today, though... something was different.

  She moved slower.

  Less mechanical.

  She set the tray down in front of me without speaking.

  I wrapped the bnket tighter around my shoulders and reached for the bowl carefully. It was warm in my hands—almost painfully so after days of cold air and colder floors.

  Some kind of broth. Simple. Salty.

  I lifted a spoonful to my mouth.

  It was hot.

  The heat spread down my throat into my chest, and for a second, it felt like something human again. Something normal.

  I expected her to stand and leave like she always did.

  She didn't.

  Instead, she lowered herself down against the wall beside me.

  Close enough that I could feel her presence.

  My pulse ticked up.

  Slowly, deliberately, she reached up and removed her ski mask.

  Blonde hair fell loose around her shoulders.

  Green eyes.

  Sharp, but not cruel.

  For a split second my heart nearly stopped.

  She looked so much like Elena it made my stomach twist.

  Not identical.

  But close enough to hurt.

  "When are they gonna take me away..." I whispered quietly, staring into the soup instead of at her. I lifted another spoonful to my lips, chewing slowly.

  It felt strange asking her anything.

  She studied me for a moment before answering.

  "They killed her," she said calmly. "You won't actually be sold away... you're too valuable for that."

  The words made me freeze.

  I stopped mid-chew.

  "Killed... who?" I wanted to ask, but the implication settled in before I could speak.

  The red-suited woman.

  Gone.

  A breath I didn't realize I'd been holding escaped me shakily.

  Not being sold.

  Not being passed from hand to hand like merchandise.

  Relief flooded through me so suddenly it almost made me dizzy.

  But it was complicated relief.

  Because if I wasn't being sold...

  Then I was being kept.

  And that meant something else entirely.

  I swallowed slowly, lowering the spoon back into the bowl.

  Too valuable.

  Valuable for what?

  I finally looked at her fully.

  "Then what am I?" I asked quietly.

  Not a person.

  Not free.

  So what?

  "You're a way to get us money," she said evenly. "We pretend to sell you, take the payment... then the woman who thinks she bought you disappears."

  She said it like she was expining a business model.

  Not a life.

  Mine.

  The spoon in my hand felt heavier suddenly.

  "So what you're saying is..." My voice thinned despite my effort to steady it. "I'm going to be here forever...?"

  The words tasted worse than the cold concrete ever had.

  She tilted her head slightly, studying me again. There was no mockery in her face. No open cruelty.

  Just calcution.

  Then she smiled.

  It wasn't warm.

  But it wasn't entirely cold either.

  "Who knows," she shrugged. "Maybe I can figure something out."

  My chest tightened.

  Figure something out.

  Hope is dangerous in a pce like this.

  I set the bowl down slowly on the floor between us, appetite fading despite the warmth of the soup still lingering in my stomach.

  "Why are you telling me this?" I asked quietly.

  Her green eyes flicked to the neckce at my chest—the pink diamonds catching the light again.

  Then back to my face.

  "You don't look like someone who belongs here," she said after a moment.

  The statement hit harder than it should have.

  Belongs.

  As if anyone belongs in a concrete box.

  Silence stretched between us, thick but not hostile.

  For the first time since I'd been brought here, the room didn't feel entirely empty.

  But it didn't feel safe either.

  I pulled the bnket closer around myself.

  "If you're going to 'figure something out,'" I said carefully, watching her expression, "you should probably do it soon."

  Because I didn't know how much longer I could survive being treated like an investment.

  And somewhere out there, Car was either tearing the world apart—

  Or bleeding because of me.

  ——