Amelia stood on the remnants of her torn clothes, managing to find a bra with two broken clasps under the bed. She struggled to put it on. Half her body disappeared into the man's nearly empty wardrobe—his clothes were too few and too large for her. She quickly found a t-shirt that fit well enough, and for the bottom, she borrowed a long shoelace from his military boots to secure the pants, preventing them from falling. The pants were too long, so she rolled the cuffs up three times to avoid tripping.
Determinedly, she dragged the ill-fitting clothes along, pushing the nightstand to the window to use as a stepping stone. Standing on her toes and stretching her arms, she reached for the high latch.
"Ding—"
The sound of metal scraping against glass was crisp. The plastic-steel window quickly slid open, expanding the small breeze she'd caught into a wide expanse of freedom framed by half the window. Just one step away from the cage.
She stepped onto the pipe running along the wall, her fingers turning white from gripping the wall crevice tightly. Every step she took down the pipe added a layer of fine sweat to her hair.
One step. Two steps.
Her laborious descent halted abruptly at the sound of heavy, panting breaths below.
Amelia turned back, her face pale, almost hopeless. Just a few meters below, a hunting dog stood with its front paw raised, drooling eagerly.
Her mental defenses crumbled with a sharp snap. Summoning unknown strength, she kicked off the pipe, pushing herself as far away from the dog's bloody breath as possible.
Unwilling to return to the cage, she also didn't want to become the dog's prey.
In her near-desperate pleas, a gentle reprimand came from the factory's back door: "Romilda, don't scare her."
The familiar voice, black rubber gloves, and metal prosthetic covered by military boots.
It was the man from the factory's second floor who had once reached out to Amelia.
She finally had a chance to see his ice-blue eyes clearly. He tilted his head, confused: "Are you trying to escape?"
Caught in the act, Amelia awkwardly drew her feet back, her gaze shifting to the obedient hunting dog behind the man, making up a lame excuse about being hungry.
Who in this factory could be a good person?
She didn't expect him to believe her.
But his clear blue eyes blinked understandingly. Instead of exposing her lie, he extended his hand to Amelia: "Come down, I'll take you to eat."
YOU ARE READING
Predator
Roman d'amourShe used to think that hyenas were the fiercest predators on the savannah. That was until she met him, a man who navigated the African black market with ease, instantly seeing through her true identity. "Choose to follow me? Or be chewed up until n...
