Page 3 of Until You Break

“Yes, you can,” he says. He shifts even closer, until he’s almost pressed against the bars, his fingers wrapping around the metal as he leans in. “Listen to me. Just focus on breathing. In, out. Nothing else.”

I follow his lead, closing my eyes for a second, forcing myself to match his steady breathing while my hand tightens around the pendant. In… out. In… out. The panic doesn’t vanish, but it loosens, just enough that I don’t feel like I’m drowning anymore.

I cling to the rhythm of it, grounding myself in the way his voice guides me, anchoring me in a way I can’t explain. After a few more breaths, I feel like I can speak again.

“What… what do they want?” My voice is barely more than a whisper, but I force the words out, needing some kind of answer, even if it’s one I don’t want to hear.

He sighs, his gaze shifting away for a moment. “Honestly? I don’t know for sure. Just bits and pieces, but it sounds like… trafficking. It’s a business to them, people moving in and out like products.” His jaw clenches, a flicker of anger passing over his face, but he shoves it down, meeting my gaze again. “You didn’t hear that from me, okay? Don’t let them know what you know. It’s safer that way.”

The reality of it crashes down over me like a wave, and I grip the bars in front of me, fingers digging into the cold metal. “And… they’re going to sell me?”

He winces, like my question hurts him more than it should, but he doesn’t deny it. “I don’t know, Aria.”

His words settle over me, a strange mix of comfort and dread. I don’t know him, but there’s something about the way he speaks, the way he’s calm despite the situation, that makes me feel… safer. Like maybe he’s more than just some stranger trapped with me.

“So… what do we do?” I ask, my voice steadier now.

“We wait and we watch for an opening. People like this get cocky. And when they do, we’ll be ready.”

He sounds so sure, like he’s thought this through, like he’s spent every second of being taken planning for this. I feel a flicker of hope, just a tiny ember in the darkness, but it’s something.

“Why… why are you here? Do you know?” I ask, needing to know more, to understand him in whatever way I can.

His gaze shifts again, his eyes going darker for a moment before he answers. “Wrong place, wrong time. Guess I was unlucky enough to catch someone’s eye.” He pauses, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You learn real quick that people don’t need a reason to hurt you. Sometimes, they just… do.”

I swallow hard, the weight of his words sinking in. I’ve spent years believing in the justice system, in fairness, in the idea that people get what they deserve. But right now, all of that feels fragile and distant. I’m trapped in a world where none of those things matter, where survival is just a matter of who’s stronger and who can last longer.

“Do you think we’ll get out of here?” My voice is barely more than a whisper, but I can’t stop myself from asking as I sit with my knees against my chest.

He meets my gaze, holding it with an intensity that makes my breath catch. “Yes,” he says firmly. “I don’t know when, or how, but we’re getting out of here. And when we do, they’ll regret ever putting us in these cells.”

There’s a fire in his eyes, and it’s enough to keep me grounded, to keep me holding on to the sliver of hope he’s handed me. I lean back against the wall, feeling my body start to relax, if only a little. The fear’s still there, lurking beneath the surface, but it doesn’t feel as suffocating, not with him here.

“So… what did you do before this?” I ask, wanting to keep the conversation going, to focus on something other than the walls closing in around us.

“Nothing fancy,” he says, shrugging. “Me and my two older brothers work together, family business and all that.” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it, just a hollow sound that echoes through the cell. “Life’s funny that way.”

I nod, feeling a strange sense of camaraderie with him. We’re both just… people. Normal, everyday people who ended up in a nightmare through no fault of our own. And now, we’re here, clinging to whatever fragments of ourselves we can hold onto.

“What about you?” he asks, his eyes steady on mine. “What were you doing before this?”

“I’m a student,” I say, feeling a pang as I think of the life I left behind. “Studying law. Not exactly a thrilling life, but… it was mine. I had plans, you know? A whole future laid out in my head.”

He nods, a soft understanding in his gaze. “Guess we both lost something then. But don’t count yourself out yet, Aria. You’re here now, but that doesn’t mean you have to stay.”

Something in his words stirs a spark in me, a reminder that this doesn’t have to be the end. That I’m still here, still breathing, still fighting.

“Do you… do you believe in God?” The words slip out before I can second-guess them, and I wonder why I asked, why I need to know.

He tilts his head, his gaze flicking to the cold stone floor before looking back at me, a faint, humorless smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“God?” he echoes, his voice flat. “No. I’ve got no reason to. Not now, not ever, and especially not in here.”

I look away, the words sinking in, and reach for the cross around my neck, the familiar shape grounding me, offering comfort. The chain is worn, the pendant small and simple, but it’s been with me through everything, a reminder of faith, of something larger than this. I keep my fingers on it, running my thumb along its edges, letting the weight of it press against my skin.

“I believe,” I murmur, the words soft, like a confession. “It’s… it’s all I’ve got sometimes.”

He chuckles. “Lawyer in training, right? The only God you lawyers pray to is Greed. Or maybe Power.” He raises an eyebrow, an amused glint in his gaze. “Faith doesn’t really fit the image there, Little Sinner.”

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