The Unravelling

The room is too quiet.

Flora's breathing is shallow, her wrists raw from the ropes that had bound them for hours. Or maybe longer. Time has blurred, stretched into something shapeless, endless. She wants to scream just to break the silence, but she swallows it down, forcing herself to stay still. Stay aware.

Then—

Footsteps.

Not the slow, heavy kind meant to intimidate. These are quick, precise. Controlled.

Her heart slams against her ribs as the door creaks open.

...