Chapter 39
Micah
The lock clicks. Vale descends the stairs with the slow confidence of a man who believes he’s already won.
He’s alone this time. Corinne told us when she dropped off our breakfast that she’d be “doing rounds” tonight.
But now, looking at Vale, it seems the sort of mundane excuse that smells of planning.
He drags a chair from the wall, metal legs screeching across the concrete, and plants it between Katana and me. His smile is too sharp, too polished, the kind you wear before snapping a trap closed.
“Let’s talk,” he says lightly, like we’re equals. As though this isn’t chains, concrete, and scars. Like this isn’t torture.
I say nothing.
Vale’s eyes flicker with amusement, but I catch the strain at the corners. He expected me to spit, to curse, to roar. Instead, I stare back, my jaw locked, the silence between us as heavy as iron.
The room hums faintly with its own secrets.
I start mapping again, my focus sliding away from him and onto the items in the room: the small closet near the stairs where Corinne wheels the machine.
The locked metal case on the shelf where she keeps her syringes—always sliding the key in twice, with quick precision.
The ring of keys clipped to the left side of her belt jingles when she moves.
The bulb overhead that flickers every time the machine powers up, dimming like it’s swallowing electricity.
Each detail settles into my mind like another weapon.
Vale leans forward, elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together. “You can make this easier, Micah. I’ll even reward you for it. A little comfort. A little reprieve for her.” His smile tilts toward Katana.
Katana stiffens, curling tighter against the wall. I see the terror flare in her eyes. She looks terrified and worried, like she’s afraid Vale will kill her. The worry is a live wire in her face, and it tightens my gut.
I keep my face carved from stone. Silence is my answer.
The pause stretches. Vale clicks his tongue, shakes his head like he’s disappointed in a child. “Stubborn,” he muses. “But stubborn things always snap when enough weight is applied.”
I don’t flinch.
Finally, Vale rises, dragging the chair back against the wall with a screech. He doesn’t push further, which makes me wonder if he’s frustrated or simply playing a game.
He leaves, the lock sliding home behind him, his footsteps retreating until the house above swallows him whole.
The silence left behind isn’t empty. It’s thick, pulsing with everything unsaid.
Katana studies me, her hazel eyes wide and raw, still shimmering with the ghost of pain. For the first time since the machine, I see something steady in them. Maybe my silence—my refusal to give Vale scraps—steadies her too.
I lean back against the pipe, letting the cold bite into my skin, and make my vow again.
Every flicker of light. Every scrape of a key. Every laugh they share. I’m memorizing it all.
And when this cage breaks, I’ll use it to end them.