6

The pressure built in my chest, tightening until I thought I might scream again.

But I couldn’t.

Screaming was useless here.

I started to wonder if this was what he wanted.

Whoever had taken me, they were playing with me, waiting for me to break.

The silence wasn’t an accident.

It was deliberate.

He was watching, waiting for me to snap.

I could feel it, like an invisible hand tightening around my throat.

9

THE WATCHER

She was unraveling beautifully.

It was always the same—the silence, the isolation, it did the work for me.

They could fight it for a while, hold onto some illusion of control.

But it never lasted.

Humans weren’t built for this kind of solitude.

Anya was no different.

Stronger, perhaps, more determined than some.

But eventually, they all fell.

I had watched her for hours, pacing the room like a caged animal.

I could see the way her movements became more erratic, more desperate.

The way her fingers trembled when she touched her face, wiping away the sweat and tears.

Her mind was crumbling, piece by piece.

It was almost time.

I had waited long enough.

I could sense her breaking point approaching, the moment when she would be willing to hear me—when my voice would be a relief rather than a threat.

She didn’t know it yet, but she was already mine.

I had orchestrated every moment, every sensation she experienced.

The temperature of the room, the length of the silence, the absence of any external stimuli.

Everything was carefully calibrated to erode her sense of reality, to make her more pliable.

I reached for the speaker system, watching her through the monitor.

Her shoulders were slumped, her body curled in on itself as if trying to make herself smaller.

The desperation on her face was palpable, the fear an almost tangible presence in the room.

This was the moment I had been waiting for.

I pressed the button.

10

ANYA

The voice came out of nowhere.

At first, I wasn’t even sure I’d heard it.

It was low, calm, but it filled the room like a physical presence, breaking through the silence like a blade.

I froze, my body stiffening, my breath catching in my throat.

"Anya."

My name.

My name in his voice.

I didn’t know how he knew it, how long he’d been watching me.

It was the first time I had heard anything other than the endless silence.

The sound sent a shiver down my spine, my skin prickling with a strange mix of fear and something else—something I didn’t want to acknowledge.

"Don’t be afraid," the voice said. "I’m here."

I scrambled to my feet, backing against the wall, my eyes darting around the room, searching for him.

But there was no one.

Just the same empty space, the same flickering light, and now his voice, filling the air like poison.

"Who are you?" I choked out, my throat tight.

I felt my voice crack with the effort, my words barely above a whisper.

"I’ve been watching you."

The words hit me like a blow to the gut.

Watching me.

He had been watching me this whole time.

Every step I had taken in this room, every breath, every tear—he had seen it all.

The thought made my stomach churn, bile rising in my throat.

I wanted to scream at him, to demand answers, but the words stuck in my mouth like sand.

"You don’t need to be afraid," he continued, his tone almost gentle now, like he was trying to soothe me. "I’m not going to hurt you."

But I didn’t believe him.

How could I?

I was trapped in this place, a prisoner to his whims, and now he wanted to pretend like he was some kind of savior?

The anger bubbled up inside me, cutting through the fear, giving me something to cling to.

"What do you want from me?" I spat, my voice sharper now, edged with desperation.

There was a pause.

The silence that followed was even worse than before, heavy with unspoken meaning.

Then, his voice came again, softer this time, almost intimate.

"You."

11

THE WATCHER

Her reaction was predictable.

The anger, the fear—it was all part of the process.