Unbind me

chapter 6

The faint vibration of electricity hums through the room, a constant reminder of the camera that's likely trained on me. I tilt my head slightly, pretending to examine the outside, but my eyes shift to the upper corner of the room where the lens sits, watching.

I wonder who's behind it. Warner? Kenji? Some faceless soldier whose job it is to monitor every move I make?

The thought sends a shiver down my spine, but I refuse to let it show. If they want to watch me, let them. I won't give them the satisfaction of seeing fear.

Instead, I focus on the outside world—or what little I can see of it. The snow is still falling, thin flakes drifting down to cover the ground in a soft white blanket. The faint smell of rain lingers, mingling with the icy sharpness of winter.

I squint, searching for any signs of life. A bird, a squirrel, even a stray dog—anything to remind me that the world outside isn't as dead as it feels in here. But there's nothing. Just the snow, the skeletal branches of trees, and the looming structure of the building itself.

I press my palm against the glass, the chill seeping into my skin.

How long has it been since I touched something real? Since I felt the warmth of another person? Since I had anything that wasn't stripped bare and cold and hollow?

I close my eyes, leaning into the glass as if I can melt into it, escape through the tiny cracks and find something waiting on the other side.

When I finally pull back, there's a faint smudge where my forehead rested. I stare at it for a moment before returning to the bed. The notebook still lies on the floor, the pages fluttering slightly in the draft from the vent. I scoop it up, flipping it closed, and set it on the desk.

The bookshelf catches my eye again, its emptiness gnawing at me. Maybe it's better this way. If it were full, I'd have to choose something, immerse myself in someone else's story instead of sitting in the stillness of my own.

And that, I think, might be more terrifying than the silence.

I sit back down on the bed, pulling my knees up to my chest. The hum of the electricity seems louder now, filling the room with an invisible presence. I don't know who's watching, or what they want, but I know this: they won't break me.

Not today.

I pick up the pen and open the notebook again, scrawling one final sentence before snapping it shut.

They don't get to decide who I am.

· · ────── · ❈ · ────── · ·

Hours pass in a haze of silence. I try not to think about the camera. Try not to think about Warner or Kenji or whatever their plans are for me. Instead, I focus on the little things: the sound of the heater kicking on, the faint hum of electricity that's always present, the weight of the notebook in my lap.

I count the lines on the pages. I tap my fingers against the desk in an uneven rhythm. I look out the window again, watching as the snow falls heavier now, blanketing the ground in thick layers of white.

But none of it stops the questions circling in my mind.

Why am I here? Why now?

Why does Warner care so much about me?

I've been asking myself these same questions since I woke up in this place. But now, with every passing hour, they weigh heavier on me. Warner is calculated, deliberate. Whatever his reasons, they aren't random. And Kenji... he's harder to read. His easygoing demeanor feels like a mask, but for what, I can't tell.