Jane (POV) The silence in this place is the worst kind. Not peaceful. Not calm. It presses in on me, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the distant sound of boots on concrete or the scrape of a chair being dragged somewhere far away. I’ve learned to count time by those sounds, by how often the door opens, by how weak my body feels when I try to stand. My stomach aches constantly now, a dull, gnawing pain that never truly fades. My throat feels raw, like sandpaper, from thirst. Still, I refuse to beg them. I refuse to give them that satisfaction. I tighten my arms around my knees and rest my forehead against them, breathing slowly, carefully. Panic wastes energy. Fear drains strength. And I need every scrap of strength I have left. Lucas’s face flashes in my mind—his smile, his steady presence, the way his eyes soften when he looks at me like I’m his whole world. The bond between us hums faintly, muted but not gone. That alone tells me I’m still alive. Still fighting. He’s comi
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