HIS BEAUTIFUL CAGE
He raised his handgun, his thumb flicking the safety off with a sharp, clean sound that felt like a definitive period at the very end of a long sentence.
"Let's go, Zara," he said, his gaze meeting mine one last time. "Let's finish the math."
We descended the cold iron ladder into the darkness, leaving the pines and the false daylight behind us. We were walking straight into the mechanical heart of the "Design," where the mirrors were waiting to reflect our every move.
And for the first time in ten long years, the bread girl wasn't afraid of the dark. She was the one holding the match.
The heavy steel hatch slammed shut above our heads with a deafening, absolute CLANG, instantly locking out
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