Chapter 31 Rylie
Rylie
Time stopped behaving normally after they left.
Minutes stretched. Then snapped back too fast. My shoulders ached from the restraints, but I welcomed the pain—it kept me anchored. Awake. Aware.
I counted footsteps.
One guard paced every forty-three seconds. Heavy boots. Left foot dragged just a little. Knee injury, maybe old. He stopped at my door twice as long as the others. Curious. Sloppy.
Another set passed less often. Lighter. Faster. Nervous.
That one checked his phone.
I smiled inwardly when I heard the faint buzz through the metal door.
Mistake.
The air in the room shifted when the lights flickered—just once. Barely noticeable. But I noticed. Fluorescent lights didn’t do that unless someone messed with the breaker or overloaded a circuit.
Someone rushed.
Good.
I rolled my wrists again, slow this time. The plastic bit deeper—but the slack on my right hand had increased by a fraction. Not enough to escape.
Enough to bleed.
I let my breathing hitch. Let my head drop forward like the fear had finally won.
Footsteps paused outside the door.
The curious guard.
The lock clicked. The door opened a few inches.
“Hey,” he muttered. “You still breathing?”
I didn’t answer.
The door opened wider.
Second mistake.
He stepped inside, boots scuffing the concrete. Too close. He smelled like cheap cologne and nerves.
I waited until he reached for my chin.
Then I lunged.
Pain exploded through my wrists, but adrenaline swallowed it whole. I slammed my forehead into his nose—felt the crunch, the wet gasp. He stumbled back with a shout. My Father drilled it into my head what to do if I am ever kidnapped.
I didn’t stop.
The chair was bolted down, but I kicked—hard—catching his shin. He went down, swearing, fumbling for his radio.
I wrapped the loose edge of the zip tie around my fingers and yanked, sawing into my skin.
Blood slicked my palm.
The door burst open as the second guard shouted.
Too late.
The zip tie snapped.
I surged forward, grabbed the fallen man’s radio, and hurled it across the room as alarms began to scream somewhere far above us.
They’d been quiet before.
They wouldn’t be now.
The second guard froze when he saw the blood. The broken nose. The chair tipped on its side.
Fear flashed in his eyes.
Third mistake.
I used it.
I bolted.
I didn’t know where I was going—just that forward was better than waiting. The hallway beyond was narrow, with concrete walls lined with pipes and flickering lights. Somewhere ahead, a door slammed.
Shouts echoed.
I ran anyway.
Bare feet slapped the floor. My lungs burned. My wrists screamed.
But beneath it all—through the chaos and noise—I felt it.
A shift.
Something tightening around the edges of this place.
Like a storm rolling in.
Trigger was close.
They thought breaking me would control him.
Instead, they’d done something far worse.
They’d given me a chance.
And Rangers never waste those.