"Mom? Please let us out. Charlie is sick! He needs a doctor!"
The darkness presses in, heavy and suffocating. The only proof of the world beyond this prison is the thin blade of light beneath the door. I hold Charlie close, but he feels less and less like my brother—more like a bundle of bones wrapped in trembling skin. His breathing falters, shallow and uneven, then catches. For a moment I think he's just asleep. Then I realize he isn't breathing at all.
"Mom, he's not breathing! Please help him!
"Shut up, you unruly vermin"
Her voice pierces the air, cold and final, as if she were spitting venom straight into my skull. The words linger long after her footsteps fade, echoing inside me until they don't even sound like her anymore—until they sound like my own thoughts.
Maybe she's right. Maybe we are vermin. Maybe this is what vermin deserve.
I slam my fists against the door, though I know no one will come. My hands sting, but it's the silence that hurts most. Silence, and the way the room feels smaller with every second, the air heavier, the shadows thicker. I'm not sure if it's my imagination or if the walls are actually closing in.
Then—the door groans open.
"Mom?" Ariya's voice is soft, trembling with fragile hope.
"Ariya, no—"
Before I can finish, the sound comes. A crack like lightning splitting the sky. Ariya falls. I don't see it clearly—I just see her hope vanish, snuffed out like a candle.
I collapse over her, my arms locking around her tiny frame. Then the blows begin. Each one explodes against me, sharp and merciless, but it's not just pain—it's the feeling of her hatred sinking into me, branding me. I bite down hard, tasting iron, because if I scream, Ariya will hear it. If she hears it, she'll know. She'll know Mom is winning.
Maybe Mom is right. Maybe we really don't deserve to be saved—No. I cant think like this, it wont help anything.
She left.
Thank God.
I force a breath, every rib screaming, but I turn to Ariya anyway.
"Are you okay, Ariya?"
A soft sob answers me in the dark.
I pull her closer, tucking her head against my chest like I can shield her from everything—even from the truth. My arms shake, but I make my voice gentle, steady, the way Mom's voice never is.
"I got you," I whisper. "You don't have to worry, sweetheart. Your big sis will always protect you."
The words taste like a lie, but I say them anyway. Because if she believes them, maybe—just maybe—I can believe them too.
The darkness in the room consumes me, raw and unrelenting. It seeps into my chest, filling the hollow places where hope used to live. I force my breathing to slow, to help Ariya's small, uneven breaths steady, as we cling to each other like wreckage in a storm.
"Is Charlie going to be okay?" she whispers, her voice trembling, as if even the question itself might shatter her.
My throat tightens. The words scrape out, fragile and broken.
"I—I don't know."
