Page 152 of The Dark Stranger

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I file itaway.

Later.

If I get a chance.

If there even is a later.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, my heart still racing, my body weak, my mind spinning.

I should run.

I should try something.

But I can’t.

Not like this.

Not without knowing where Becca is.

What if she’s here?

What if she’s in one of these rooms?

I swallow hard, blinking back tears.

“I’m not leaving without her,” I whisper to myself.

Even if itkills me.

I don't know how long I've been lying here.

Could be hours.

Could be days.

Time doesn't fucking work anymore.

My body feels like it's been through hell and dragged back just to do it again. Every breath burns—sharp, like someone's pressing broken glass into my ribs. My ankle throbs with every tiny shift, swollen and hot, and whatever they pumped into me earlier hasn't fully worn off. My head is still foggy, thick, like I'm trying to think through smoke that won't clear.

But I force myself to stay awake.

Stay sharp.

Stay the fuck alive.

The room smells wrong. Metallic. Like old blood and bleach trying to cover something worse. The air is stale, too warm, pressing down on me like it's got weight. I can taste it in the back of my throat—copper and chemicals and fear-sweat. My own, probably. Maybe someone else's.

I don't want to think aboutthat.

My eyes move slowly around the room again, pretending I'm out of it—but I'm not. Not anymore.

Door.

Corners.

Walls—

There.

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