CHAPTER 6 #2
"You think your body will buy you freedom?" he muttered, his voice thick with a perverse desire.
"It might buy me a moment," I whispered, my tongue flicking out, just barely touching his thumb, a tiny, defiant act of seduction. "A moment of quiet. A moment away from... them."
His hand, still on my jaw, tightened. His eyes, dark and turbulent, reflected a profound internal struggle. I could see it. The crack. The struggle between his orders and his own primal urges, fueled by my desperate, dangerous offer.
Then, his eyes flickered. Not at me, but past me, towards the dim light of the open door. A subtle movement, barely perceptible. He was listening. Listening for something. Or someone.
My mind raced. This was my chance. I wouldn't have to go through with it. Just a distraction. A moment.
His grip on my jaw loosened slightly. He leaned closer, his eyes still locked on mine. "What do you see?" he asked, his voice a low rumble, but no longer focused on my provocation.
"What?" I frowned, confused.
"You scan everything," he hissed, his gaze piercing. "The cracks in the floor, the hum of the machine, the flickering light. What do you see here? In this... place."
My breath hitched. He had been watching me. Observing my observations. This wasn't just lust. He was smart. Or he was testing me.
"The hum intensifies every twenty minutes," I blurted out, my historian's brain taking over, spilling information, hoping it was the right kind. "And the light dims. It's a generator. And the air, it smells of ozone then. Something is running, something heavy. Not just a fan."
He stared at me, his gaze unblinking. "What else?"
"The hinges on the door," I continued, gaining confidence, seeing a different path. "They're old. Rusted. They groan every time. And the lock... it's heavy, but old. If the power dipped... for long enough... if the security was... distracted..."
He pulled back, his hand falling from my face. He looked at the door, then back at me. A strange look in his eyes now. Not desire, not just anger. Something else. A grudging respect? Or a deeper calculation?
"There are two shifts," he said, his voice flat, almost devoid of emotion. "Me and Nikolai. Nikolai comes in an hour. He's slow. Deaf in one ear. And he smokes like a chimney when the boss ain't watching. Down the corridor, at the old loading dock."
My heart leaped into my throat. Information. Real information.
"And the power?" I pushed, my voice barely a whisper.
He gave a mirthless chuckle. "Volkov has a project. Heavy machinery, welding. Down this corridor. Needs constant power. When they switch the main grid from the city line to the generator, it dips. Always a dip. For a minute, maybe two. Always around the shift change."
He was telling me how to escape. This wasn't a crack. This was a gaping hole.
"Why?" I asked, my voice trembling now, with genuine bewilderment. "Why are you telling me this?"
He walked back to the door, his hand on the frame, his eyes sweeping the empty corridor.
"Because I’m tired of this shit. Because Volkov thinks he owns everything.
He thinks he owns us all." He paused, then looked back at me, his face a mask of weariness.
"And because Morozov will tear this city apart if his pet ain't found. Better him than me."
He pulled the door almost shut, then paused, a sliver of light still coming through. "One minute, maybe two. After Nikolai takes his smoke break. You got about twenty minutes before that."
And then, the door slammed shut, the heavy padlock clicking into place, the chain rattling. He was gone. Just like that.
I was alone again, but the silence was different. No longer suffocating, but brimming with possibility. My heart hammered, but it was with adrenaline, not despair. He had done it. He had given me the key.
Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes before Nikolai, deaf and smoking, took his break. Twenty minutes for the main power grid to switch, causing that brief, crucial dip.
My eyes scanned the cell again, this time with a different purpose. Not observation, but execution. I looked at the old, rusted padlock. It wasn't electronic. It was a physical lock. A distraction for the guards, not the lock itself.
My gaze fell to the floor near the drain, to the small, almost invisible crack in the concrete. Varya's hint about "old places had old flaws." I’d noticed it on the first day. A subtle shift in the foundation. Could it be leveraged? No, too slow.
I remembered the sounds. The heavy door groaning, the chain rattling. What about the chain? Was it as old and rusted as the lock?
I crawled to the door, my injured foot protesting, but I ignored the pain, pushing through it.
My fingers, surprisingly agile despite the throbbing wrist, ran along the heavy chain.
It was thick, yes, but the rust was deep, eating into the links.
And the part that connected to the wall...
the eye-hook was almost entirely eaten through.
Liam had taught me about leverage. About exploiting weaknesses. About hitting where it hurt.