Three
A foul odor rose in her nostrils while the voice inside of her whispered, This was a terrible mistake. What would await her at the end of this tunnel? While she walked with slow steps, putting one foot before the other, this smell of rust, feces, and drainage brought images of the labour camp to the surface. Panic rose in her throat, and her pulse quickened. The sense of dread that haunted her from the camps would never leave—buried beneath her skin, waiting to resurface with every trigger. Why had she even trusted this Björn? It must have been the desperation. The notion of being trapped. Although, ironically, this felt more like a trap now. The air grew thinner and Rahab took off her coat, tempted to take off everything she wore. The further she went, the hotter the air became.
T
