That ridiculous, smug, oddly adorable bunny stood over me with wide eyes and a guilty look twitching at the edges of its face.
It nibbled on something nervously, ears tilted downward, tail flicking like a faulty metronome.
I blinked hard, my breath catching in my chest. I shot up—tried to, at least. My body felt weightless, almost floaty, but the memory hit like a freight train.
"What the hell just happened?" I gasped, my hands flying to my throat. No bruises. No pressure. No lingering heat from a struggle. No blood.
I wasn't in that room anymore. I wasn't under him. I wasn't dying.
"Did I . . . fail?" I frowned, voice barely above a whisper. "That can't be right."
I stared at the bunny, hoping it would laugh, wave its paws, say Just kidding! and hit the reset button with sparkles and fanfare. But it didn't.
The silence was deafening.
