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S ix days.

Six days of failure after failure.

Roger has delivered my meals—morning, noon, and night—and I’ve done everything in my power to get that bracelet on him. Batted lashes, coy smiles, flirtatious words. A faux yearning for conversation and company.

Nothing’s worked.

My only chance of getting out of here has been a wall more impenetrable than the four walls closing in on me.

I swear they’re shrinking.

Or maybe that’s just hope.

My stomach tightens with a sharp pain as I lay on my mattress, curled up in a shivery ball. Over the past few days, my health has declined. I’m not sure what’s going on, but this morning I woke up with a fever that feels like red-hot lava bubbling beneath my skin.

Pulling the blanket up over my swollen belly, all the way to my chin, I moan when another wave of searing pain contracts in my abdomen.

Isaac’s voice is a whirr of muddled noise beside me. “…and then his head will be on my breakfast plate.”

I blink slowly. “What?”

“The ogre. Decapitation is inevitable.”

“That sounds…nice.” My eyelids close like curtains, drawing over the stage of my foggy eyes. “I don’t want breakfast. I’m not hungry.”

He pauses. “You good over there?”

“Pancakes are good.”

“What now?”

When I reopen my eyes, happy-faced pancakes are dancing above my head, drizzled in syrup and melted butter. Warm goo drips into my eyes.

Luckily, I have enough cognitive sense to realize I’m losing my damn mind.

I swipe at my face; it’s only sweat.

“Isaac…I’m sick.” Ice-cold chills filter through me, a contrast to my burning skin. The mattress moves underneath me as I relentlessly shake, my knees tucked to my chest.

Another long pause festers before his voice sounds closer. “Sick? Like the flu?”

“Worse, I think,” I croak. “My procedure…something’s wrong.”

A thump against the wall. “Fuck.”

I can’t determine if the worry in his tone is for my health, or for the rusty wrench thrusted into our escape plan. I can hardly move, let alone woo Roger. I’ve already failed, and now I’m deteriorating by the minute. “I’m…freezing,” I tell him, my teeth clicking together. “High fever. A-and my stomach…it hurts. Dull pain and nausea. I think I might puke.”

“Goddammit.” The curse is a harsh, gritty whisper forced through clenched teeth.

I want to believe he cares.

About me.

My mind swims with fruitless fantasies and daydreams. If we were to escape, would we keep in touch? Would there be monthly coffee dates, or playing catch-up over lunch at cutesy cafes?

What would we talk about?

Our common thread is nothing but a wall, a madman, and a boatload of shared trauma—not exactly the foundation from which long-lasting friendships are grown.

Then I wonder if we’d ever become… more .

For a moment, guilt trickles through me as tears sting my eyes, the physical and emotional turmoil ruining me from the inside out.

I never imagined a life without him.

Without Jasper.

Isaac breaks into my pendulating thoughts. “How do you usually feel after the procedure?”

He sounds so far away, like a distant echo carried by the wind. “A little sore. Some cramping, no worse than menstrual cramps. But now…” I attempt to catch my breath, like I can’t hold on to it long enough, and the wind is carrying that, too. “The pain is a lot worse. I can’t stop sh-shaking. Feels like…I’m dying.” I whimper, helplessly. “Can you imagine? All these years, surviving the clutches of twisted serial killers, and a stupid infection takes me out.”

“ No .” He slaps the wall, and it sounds like both of his hands. “Fuck that. Not happening.”

“Would you miss me?”

It’s a silly question, utterly pointless. Yet a dopey smile steals my lips as I gaze up at the ceiling, watching it blur and move, morphing into a star-studded galaxy. I think I hear laughter. Children. My mother is beside me, stroking my sweat-slicked hair back as she feeds me spoonfuls of soup.

Does my mother miss me?

Allison? Colleagues?

Faceless fans and followers?

I imagine how many people have unfollowed my social media accounts because I’m no longer relevant. I’m gone. I’m not sure why, but the notion is excruciating. A hollow ache.

All my life, I thought the worst feeling was to be hated, judged, despised—resented just for existing. But now I know I’d take all of that over this.

The worst thing in the world is to be forgotten.

I curl into myself and face the wall, waiting for Isaac’s reply. He’s silent, and the ache only grows. “You don’t have to say anything,” I murmur, unsure if he can even hear me. “I don’t think your answer would make me feel any better.” There’s a low hum purring in my ears. Ocean waves. “No one is looking for me. I shouldn’t expect you to care, either.”

“Mm,” he drones. “Sounds like you’re giving up.”

“Why shouldn’t I? The world thinks I’m dead. I don’t matter anymore.”

“Who the fuck cares what the world thinks? They’re irrelevant. Outliers,” he says. “Your worth isn’t determined by external validation. That’s bullshit.”

“You don’t have to?—”

He slaps the wall, hard. “You still matter.”

My breath catches. I squeeze the front of my nightdress as my eyes fall shut. “I just think…I feel like?—”

“No. Fuck whatever you’re about to say.” Two more slaps. “You. Matter.”

“Isaac…”

“Your name is Everly Cross, and you fucking matter. Believe it. Own it. And start fighting like you do.”

I want to cry.

His tone is hard, yet his words make me feel soft inside, gooey and warm. It could be the fever, but I think it’s him.

It takes all my strength just to lift my arm and press my hand to the wall. “I didn’t take you as someone…who gave pep talks.”

He grumbles. “Better theory is, I’m smart enough to know that my best chance of survival relies on the mopey girl next door.”

A drowsy smile lifts. “Weird way to say you like me.”

His tone softens, betraying his words. “I tolerate you.”

“Yeah…” My eyes drift closed again, the infection stealing me away. “I tolerate you, too, Isaac.”

Before I’m fully immersed in fever dreams, the door to my room unlocks. I barely manage to open my eyes all the way as I regard the hulking figure standing before me. Two figures? No…just one. My vision is distorted and I’m seeing double.

I swallow the sandpaper in my throat. “Roger?”

He grunts. “Breakfast.”

“I…I’m sick. Can you…” I reach for him, for something, but all I do is slide off the mattress. My head pounds, my body aches. As I inch myself back up, my hand slides underneath my pillow for support. For leverage.

And that’s when I feel it. I remember.

I have to do this.

Right now.

Roger trudges forward with a blurry platter, and the sound of it clinking against the tile mingles with the feel of yarn-spun wire sliding into my palm. I cup my hand around it as I lift up, collapsing onto the cot.

“Roger…please.” I squeeze the bracelet, my heart ping-ponging between my ribs. “I need medicine.”

Another caveman grunt. “You’ll live.”

“I won’t. It’s serious. Something went wrong…with my procedure.”

Hesitating, Roger stares down at me with beady eyes, his bald head morphing into two heads, then back into one. I can’t read him. His expression is stone, but he’s still here.

I raise my weakened arm, our precious escape plan hidden inside my fist. “Can you…help me sit up?” He can tell I’m not faking it. I’m truly sick—sweating, shivering, and wrecked. My skin feels hot and flushed, and I can only imagine how I look to him. “Please. I…need you.”

It hurts to say the words, but rotting in this cell hurts more.

Isaac is quiet.

He’s listening, waiting, silently begging for me to get this bracelet on Roger.

My heart races with adrenaline, a reminder that I’m still alive.

Still here.

I still matter.

“Roger…” Reaching for him, I try to move on my own but drop backward with a small cry. “I can’t do it. I-I’m hungry.”

Finally, to my heart-rending relief, Roger approaches. I catch him glancing over his shoulder at the camera before he looks back down at me. He doesn’t say anything as he bends over and wraps his thick arms around my torso, heaving me upward, onto my knees.

I cling to him.

I hold him tight, pressing my warm cheek to his chest. “Thank you.”

His big body freezes in my grip as I hug him, feigning care and comfort. He smells like bleach and cigarette smoke, like death and decay. But as my hands trail down his waist in a slow descent, I carefully slip the bracelet into his back pocket and give his butt a squeeze.

Roger tenses on a low moan. Pulls me closer, holds me tighter.

“Mmm,” he groans, a lewd, grotesque sound that coils around my insides like a disease worse than this infection. A meaty paw cups my ass, feeling me up through the thin gown.

Oh, God.

What if he takes this further?

What if he…?

“Hey.” A sudden ruckus unfolds beside me. Isaac starts pounding on the wall, rattling his chain, creating a scene.

A distraction.

My breath is quick and shallow as I try to wiggle free from Roger’s grasp. His fingers tighten on my ass, almost bruising, as he glares at the wall. “Shut the fuck up over there.”

Isaac continues.

Noise, yelling, cursing.

“You’re a spineless fucking prick. Come over here and deal with me, you low-life, tiny-dicked bastard.” He slams his chain against the wall so hard he almost breaks through. “Get the fuck over here so I can put my fist in your ugly fucking face.”

Roger releases me, and I fall back, slumping against the wall.

The room spins.

I watch as he charges toward the door, moving faster than I’ve ever seen him move.

Everything is a blur.

Chaos.

I droop sideways, landing on the cot as my body shakes, my pulse hammers, and my mind vaguely takes in the havoc unleashing beside me. I hear Isaac’s door unlock. Chains jangle. His voice heightens, insults spewing from his mouth like snake venom.

Fists. Punches. Rattling iron. Grunts and groans.

I peer up at the camera, wondering if anyone is watching. If anyone hears what I’m hearing.

Did Isaac overpower him? Is Roger killing him?

Curling into a ball, I try to stay awake. I cling to reality while my body threatens to succumb to darkness.

No…not now. Please, not now.

I whisper through chattering teeth, “Back pocket.”

A final crunching sound rings out, and then everything goes quiet.

I wait for footsteps. Alarms. The Timekeeper’s voice telling us our time is up.

But there’s nothing.

My eyes flutter closed as nightmares swoop in to carry me away. But before I pass out, I hear Isaac’s voice on the other side of the wall.

“Stay with me.”