HopeMy body feels heavier with each hour that crawls by.The first day, I can barely move, but some strength trickles back—like sap through frozen wood. My wolf shifts inside me, restless, pacing, urging me to act.So I do.I drag myself to the door, claws sliding from my fingertips. I rake them along the edge of the lock, trying to pry, trying to break.The wood is thick, reinforced with metal beneath. My claws screech uselessly against it.The windows are the same—sealed, latched, unbreakable.I throw a chair at one of them. It bounces off with a dull thud. The noise echoes back at me like a taunt.I scream until my voice turns raw, until my throat burns.No footsteps come. No guards rush in. Either no one hears me, or no one cares.By nightfall, the room is a wreck—pillows torn, furniture overturned, my nails cracked and bloody. I slump on the bed, trembling, and stare at the door. My wolf presses against the edges of my mind, anxious, snarling.Do they think I’m missing?Do they
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