He knew I couldn’t stand tight spaces. He knew it made my skin crawl, made my lungs seize, made my mind spiral.
And he still did it.
Like I was an animal he could cage.
Tears slid down my cheeks before I could stop them. I wiped them away viciously.
No.
Crying wouldn’t help. None of them deserved my tears. None of them deserved my love.
I pressed my back to the wall and forced my heartbeat to slow.
The closet was small. Too small. Boxes stacked high. Old coats. Dust thick enough to taste. There was nothing inside that could help me pry the lock or force the door.
Hours crawled by.
Eventually, the house grew quieter. The music faded. Evening settled in.
Then a soft knock came from the other side of the door.
Hope surged through me so fast it hurt.
I scrambled up, gripping the handle. “Hello? Someone’s there—please! Open the door!”
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then Elara’s voice slid through the crack like poison.
“Oh, Lyra,” she cooed. “Locked up exactly where you belong.”
I shut my eyes, swallowing the rage burning my throat. “What do you want? Are you done with your performance?”