5

The silence was too thick, too suffocating.

It pressed down on me, making it hard to breathe.

I had never felt so alone in my life.

I sat on the floor, my back against the wall, staring at the door.

I was exhausted.

My body ached from the constant tension, my mind frayed from the fear that gnawed at the edges of my thoughts.

I tried to think of my life before this, of the things I cared about, but it all felt so distant now.

Like it had happened to someone else.

I hadn’t always been this way.

I used to be tougher, stronger.

When I was younger, I had to be.

My family wasn’t exactly easy.

My parents were strict, demanding, always pushing me to be better, to achieve more.

I was the first in my family to go to college, to leave our small town behind.

I had to prove something—to them, to myself.

That I could make it on my own.

And I had.

Or at least, I thought I had.

Until now.

Now, I was nothing.

7

THE WATCHER

She was starting to crack.

I could see it in the way she moved—slow, hesitant, like she didn’t know what to do with herself anymore.

The isolation was working.

It always did.

I watched her through the camera, her body slumped against the wall.

She was trying to hold on, trying to keep herself together, but it wouldn’t last much longer.

The silence would break her, and when it did, I would be there.

My voice would be the only thing she could hold onto.

I had planned this for so long, every step carefully mapped out.

The abduction had been smooth, the transfer flawless.

She hadn’t even seen my face.

That was important.

She couldn’t know who I was.

Not yet.

The anonymity, the mystery—it made me more powerful.

More untouchable.

I had studied her, learned everything about her.

She had a successful career, a bright future, but there were cracks beneath the surface.

She wasn’t as strong as she pretended to be.

She had a past, secrets she didn’t talk about.

It was all in her eyes—the pain, the fear.

I could see it even when she couldn’t.

And now, I would use it against her.

It wouldn’t be long now.

Soon, I would speak to her.

Soon, she would hear my voice for the first time.

And that’s when the real fun would begin.

8

ANYA

I don’t know how many days passed before I finally heard his voice.

Maybe it was days; maybe it was only hours.

Time didn’t make sense here anymore.

Everything blended into the same, unending moment.

I had long stopped trying to escape.

The door wouldn’t budge.

The room was unbreakable.

I was stuck, and the more I realized it, the more it hollowed me out.

The silence was unbearable.

It was worse than any noise, worse than the screaming in my head.

I would have given anything to hear something, anything—footsteps, the clink of keys, the sound of my captor breathing.

Instead, I was left with my own thoughts, turning on themselves like vultures circling a carcass.

I didn’t know how much longer I could last.

My skin felt too tight, like I was coming apart at the seams.

My hands shook without reason.

I paced back and forth across the room, over and over, wearing a path into the cold floor beneath my feet.

Each step, each breath, felt like it was taking me further from the person I used to be.

I was losing myself.

And I didn’t know if I would ever come back.

I had to do something.

Anything.

I started talking to myself, whispering words just to hear my own voice.

I needed to know I still existed, that I was still real.

But even my voice sounded strange, distant, like it didn’t belong to me anymore.

I wasn’t sure what I was saying half the time.

Just words, spilling out like a lifeline, trying to hold onto some shred of sanity.

I wasn’t going crazy.

I couldn’t be going crazy.

But the walls—they were so close now, so suffocating.

The silence was too loud, and I couldn’t drown it out.