Chapter 36
Katana
The door’s lock scrapes shut. The smell of ozone and antiseptic lingers like ghosts. My body still buzzes with phantom current.
The straps are gone, but the leather still ghosts my wrists, the weight of buckles locking me in.
The silence that follows their departure is worse than the machine. It leaves me drowning in my thoughts, terror slithering down my shivering body.
He could kill me next time.
I curl against the cold wall, knees tucked to my chest, my wrists once again bound to the pipe. The concrete steals what little warmth I have left, but it’s better than the burn echoing inside me.
Micah’s voice cuts through the static in my head. “Katana. Look at me.”
I don’t move, remaining stubbornly silent.
“Talk to me.” His tone is rough, threaded with a desperation he’s trying to hide. Chains scrape as he shifts, straining to see me. “Say something.”
My throat aches, words trapped behind it. If I speak, I don’t know if I’ll scream or sob—or both.
“You didn’t break,” he presses on, low and urgent. “You fought him. You didn’t give Vale a thing. That takes strength.”
Strength.
I don’t feel strong. I feel hollow. Like Corinne’s calm hands and Vale’s cruel torture stripped me down to something small and breakable.
A flicker of bitterness sparks before I can stop it. Where was your strength, Micah? Where were you when they strapped me down? The thought cuts sharper than the shocks did.
But then I see his wrists—raw and red from the chains he pulled against. His chest heaves like every second of silence was a war inside him. He didn’t save me because he couldn’t—and somehow that makes it worse.
I drop my forehead to my knees, my voice muffled when it finally breaks free. “I hate him.”
Micah exhales, the sound more growl than breath. “Good. Hate will keep you alive.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, tears hot but silent. I don’t know if I resent him or if I’m clinging to him. Maybe both. But the only thing keeping me from splintering completely is the sound of his voice, steady in the dark.
“Don’t shut me out, little murderess,” he murmurs, quieter now. “Don’t let him win that way.”
The nickname sparks through the haze, familiar and grounding. My chest tightens, a tremor shuddering through me. I don’t lift my head, but I shift just enough that my shoulder brushes the wall closer to him. A tiny movement, but it’s all I have.
For the first time since the shocks, something flickers in me that isn’t pain.