Page 18 of Fire and Silk
I spin around. There’s no windows. None. Just a smooth wall where glass should be. The walls are painted the color of calm—the kind of calm you use to cage wild things.
My throat closes.
I run to the far side of the room. Look up.
Air vents.
Slim, recessed, just above the crown molding. Maybe two. I drag the desk chair over, clamber onto the bed and then onto the chair, fingers scrambling for the vent.
I try to wedge my fingers between the slats. They don’t budge. I push harder. My nails scrape metal. Pain blooms in my wrist and I hiss, trying to breathe through it.
I don’t know where I am. I don’t know how I got here.
My pulse is stuttering now. My chest tightens. I can’t cry. I can’t. If I cry, I’ll unravel.
Suddenly—a click.
The door opens behind me.
I freeze.
A figure steps inside.
An elderly woman. Silver hair in a braided bun. Plain dress, perfectly pressed. Her hands are empty. Her expression is neutral.
I don’t move.
I’m still standing on the bed. Still balanced on the chair.
“Don’t bother,” the woman says, her voice soft but absolute. “The vents are sealed. You can’t get in.”
I whip around on the bed, heart punching my ribs.
“Now come on,” she adds, like she’s asking me to set the table. “Let’s get you clean.”
I swallow, throat raw.
“Who... who are you?” I ask, voice cracked, half air.
She tilts her head, like the question bores her. “Does that matter?”
I take a shaky step back, foot pressing into the velvet throw.
“I don’t know who you are or what this is,” I say, louder now, panic turning my voice brittle. “But let me go. Now. Or I’ll call the police.”
The woman whistles. Like she’s calling a dog.
The door opens and a man steps in.
He’s tall. Dressed in black. His uniform has no name, no logo—just lines and a shoulder patch I don’t recognize. His hand rests on the strap of a sleek, matte-black rifle.
I go still.
“I can either wash you,” the woman says gently, “or he can do the honors.”
She smiles at me—soft, maternal. “But either way, child, you’re getting clean.”
I can’t breathe. My feet are rooted. My hands shake.
