I stopped crying somewhere between midnight and morning.
Tears wouldn't open doors.
They wouldn't save James.
And they certainly wouldn't save me.
I sat against the cold wall, breathing in the silence of the room. No footsteps. No voices. Just my thoughts… sharpening.
They thought locking me up would break me.
But all it did was focus me.
Somewhere inside this concrete box, I would find a way out.
And if I couldn't escape physically yet—then I'd start with their minds.
---
Ethan came again that afternoon.
This time, no suit. No charm.
He brought food. Bread. Water.
He placed it beside me and didn't speak for a long moment.
I didn't touch it.
"Still angry?" he asked softly.
"I'm not angry," I replied. "I'm calculating."
He tilted his head, clearly not expecting that answer.
"I know you're scared," I continued. "Scared of your father. Scared of losing the life you built by pretending to be loyal."
"You don't know anything about me," he snapped.
"I know you hesitate before you walk out that door."
Silence.
I stood, slowly — letting him see the steadiness in my spine.
"I know you didn't let them kill James. I know you fought for that."
He flinched.
"You still care," I said. "And that's your weakness."
"I told you—I'm not your brother."
"But you still want to protect me like one."
His jaw clenched. "This is war, Amelia."
"Then pick a side."
I stepped closer.
"If you want to be your father's puppet, fine. But when all of this crashes down, you'll be buried under the rubble with the rest of them."
I could see the crack in his mask. Small. But growing.
"I could let you out," he whispered. "But you'll just go to James and burn everything."
"I don't need to burn it. Just expose it."
He ran a hand through his hair and cursed under his breath.
Then… he reached into his jacket and slipped me a tiny object.
A bobby pin.
I blinked. "You're kidding."
"I'll leave the hallway door unlocked during the shift change," he murmured. "Ten minutes. No more."
"Why?" I asked, heart racing. "Why help me?"
"Because my father lied to me, too," he whispered. "And because… I think my mother knew something. Something she died for."
I looked into his eyes. And I knew this time…
He wasn't pretending.
---
Ten hours later, I sat by the door, heartbeat pounding as the faint buzz of the hallway alarm clicked over.
Shift change.
Now or never.
I took the bobby pin, twisted it, and went to work on the lock.
It took less than a minute.
The door creaked open.
The corridor was empty — cold, white, silent.
I slipped out, heart hammering. I knew I only had one shot.
Ethan had given me a map of the compound sketched on the inside of a napkin. I followed it like a lifeline.
Left at the first corridor. Past the steel door. Through the supply room.
And then… I reached the garage.
Two guards. One asleep. One distracted.
I crept past like a shadow, heart in my throat, and slipped into the back of a black SUV just as the door opened from inside.
Ethan.
He slid into the front seat and started the engine.
"You're really doing this," I whispered.
"Don't thank me," he said flatly. "This won't redeem me."
"No," I said. "But it's a start."
We sped off through the private estate gates before the alarm could sound.
Miles later, when we finally slowed near the edge of the city, Ethan pulled over and handed me a phone.
"You need to find James."
"I will."
"And you need to end this."
"I plan to."
I reached for the door.
"Amelia," he said.
I paused.
"I never stopped caring."
I didn't answer.
Because some things…
Didn't need words.