CHAPTER 14

Vera woke up to pain before she woke up to light.

Her wrists burned. Not rope—something thinner, tighter. It bit into skin with every small movement, deliberate, engineered. Her ankles were the same. Suspended just enough that her toes brushed the floor but never rested. Enough to remind her she was not meant to be comfortable.

Her head throbbed. Her mouth was dry.

She tried to move. The bindings answered for her—sharp, exact. She sucked in a breath and forced herself still.

The air felt wrong. Too still. Like it was waiting.

“Lina,” she said. Her voice came out rough. “Lina.”

A chair scraped somewhere behind her.

“Hello Vera,” a man said calmly.

The calm scared her more than shouting ever could.

Vera lifted her head. The room was bare. Concrete walls. One light above her, too bright, humming faintly. The man stood where the light didn’t quite reach him. Hands clasped. Patient.

“Where is she?” Vera asked.

He smiled—not wide. Not cruel. Controlled. “Not dead yet.”

The word yet lodged itself in her chest.

Vera’s chest tightened despite herself.

“Good,” she said. “Then you don’t need me like this.”

The man stepped closer. She smelled metal. Oil. Old blood cleaned badly.

“You ran,” he said. “That was your first mistake.”

“And you came back,” he added softly, as if correcting a child. “That was the second.”

Something cold touched her thigh.

“Count,” he said.

Am sorry.....count.. wha....The iron came down.

Pain exploded—hot, blinding, precise.

Vera gasped, her body jerking against the bindings, skin tearing where the material cut deeper.

“One,” she forced out.

The second strike landed before her breath returned.

“Two.”

He didn’t rush. He waited between each hit just long enough for her body to register what was coming. Long enough for fear to bloom. Long enough for her muscles to betray her.

By five, her vision blurred.

By seven, her jaw shook.

At nine, her voice broke.

“Ten,” she whispered.

The man stopped.

Silence rushed in, heavy and ringing.

“Good,” he said. “You still remember how to listen.”

Vera laughed weakly. “You think this reminds me,” she said. “All it does is make me tired.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

Her stomach dropped.

Memory surged—hands, walls, waiting. She shut her eyes too late.

Footsteps. Another presence.

They brought Lina into the light.

Her hair hung loose, tangled, dark with sweat. Her face was bruised—one eye swelling shut. Her hands were bound behind the chair they forced her into. She lifted her head when she heard Vera breathe her name.

“Vera,” Lina said hoarsely.

The sound broke something open inside her.

Vera pulled against the bindings until the thin material sliced deeper. Blood slid down her arms.

“Don’t,” Lina said quickly. “Don’t look at them. Look at me.”

Vera tried. God, she tried.

The man picked up a knife.

Not large. Not dramatic. Clean. Functional.

“This is about memory,” he said. “You keep forgetting where you belong.”

Vera shook her head. “She has nothing to do with this.”

“That’s what makes her useful.”

The knife went in.

Lina cried out—a sharp, broken sound that cut straight through Vera’s chest. The man twisted it slowly, deliberately, watching Vera’s face, not Lina’s.

Vera screamed then. Not words. Just sound.

“Stop,” Vera said. Her voice cracked. “Please. Hurt me. I’ll count again. I’ll do anything.”

The knife withdrew. Blood followed.

“You’re already hurting,” he said. “That’s not the point.”

He let Vera breathe. Just once.

He plunged it in again, higher this time.

Lina screamed. Her body strained against the chair, breath coming in sobbing bursts.

“Remember,” the man said quietly, “who you ran from.”

“You see?” he murmured. “She breaks faster than you.”

Vera sobbed now, openly. “I remember,” she said. “I remember everything. I’d rather die than go back.”

The knife paused.

For one terrifying second, she thought he might agree.

The man leaned close enough that she could smell his breath. “Everyone says that,” he said. “Until they’re reminded.”

He pulled the knife free and stepped back.

Lina sagged forward, breathing hard, blood soaking into her clothes. Her eyes found Vera’s. Still alive. Still conscious.

“For now,” the man said.

The light flickered.

Something heavy struck the side of Vera’s head. Not hard enough to kill her. Just enough.

Pain flared white. Her body went slack against the bindings.

The room tilted. Sound stretched thin.

As darkness rushed in, the last thing she heard was his voice—steady, certain.

“You don’t escape us,” he said. “You just take longer to break.”

Then there was nothing.