Under the Grit

Choke

The sunlight that streamed through the glass doors of her room felt oppressive, too bright, too warm against her chilled skin. Evangeline sat on the edge of her bed, her back hunched as she stared at her hands. They were trembling again. No matter how tightly she curled her fingers into her palms, the shaking wouldn't stop.

She felt ill, but it wasn't just the physical exhaustion. It was deeper, an ache that radiated from her chest and settled in her stomach, twisting every thought and every breath into something heavy and unbearable. Her reflection in the nearby mirror caught her eye, and she barely recognized herself-pale, dark circles under her eyes, her cheekbones sharper than they should have been. She looked like someone hollowed out and barely stitched back together.

Evangeline hadn't slept properly since the night Cleet had burst into her room. The dreams had become worse, each one more vivid, more terrifying than the last. Noah's face haunted her-his eyes empty, his voice cutting through her like a blade. The guilt she carried over his death, the anger at what she'd learned about him, all twisted into nightmares that refused to let her rest.

Her body felt weak, her limbs heavy as if they didn't belong to her anymore. She could barely stomach the scraps of food they allowed her to eat, and the water she forced herself to drink seemed to do little to quench her thirst. A dull ache throbbed behind her temples, a constant reminder of how far she'd fallen from the strong, determined woman she used to be.

The sounds of the house around her only heightened her unease. Footsteps creaked on the floorboards, muffled voices echoed down the hall, and laughter-sharp and cruel-punctuated the air like gunshots. She hated how she flinched at every sound, how she couldn't shake the feeling of eyes watching her even when she was alone.

The days blurred together, each one marked only by the moments they allowed her out of her room. The rest of the time, she was confined to the small space that once felt like a sanctuary but now felt like a prison. She couldn't stop thinking about Javier's words, about the fragile glimmer of hope he'd offered and how quickly it had been snuffed out by reality.

Her gaze drifted to the glass doors leading to the balcony. She'd tried once to test them, to see if there was a chance of escape, but the sharp crack of a voice from below had frozen her in place. One of the men-Cleet or Joe, she wasn't sure-had been standing in the yard, a gun in his hand, his eyes trained on her as if daring her to try something. She hadn't attempted it again.

Evangeline pressed a hand to her stomach, the queasiness rising again. She felt feverish, her body betraying her with weakness when she needed strength the most. The days of tension, fear, and confinement were catching up with her, wearing her down until she barely had the energy to think.

Her thoughts drifted to Arthur, unbidden but persistent. She clung to the memory of his voice during their last phone call, the way he had sounded so concerned, so sure of her. A part of her hated herself for pushing him away, for letting fear dictate her choices, but what else could she have done? If he came here, if he tried to help her and something happened to him... she couldn't bear that thought.

Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away, her jaw tightening. She couldn't afford to break down. Not now. Not yet. Even as her body rebelled against her, even as her mind screamed at her to give up, there was still a tiny spark of defiance burning in her chest. It wasn't much, but it was all she had left.

She swallowed hard, her fingers clutching the edge of the bed as she forced herself to stand. The dizziness hit her immediately, but she steadied herself, taking a slow, deep breath. She couldn't let them see her like this. If they did, if Micah saw any weakness, he'd use it against her. And she couldn't let him win. Not yet.