The window had finally begun to shift beneath my desperate persistence—just a breath of movement, just enough to let in a ribbon of cold, fresh air that curled like a whisper against my flushed cheek. I paused there, motionless, breath shallow and aching with hope, fingers trembling from strain, one knee bent awkwardly on the unstable stool. One final pull, and I would be out.
I was so close.
And then—
“You know,” came a voice behind me, low and laced with something too calm, too casual to be anything but calculated, “you can use the door, if you really want to leave.”
I froze.
My entire body went still, down to the breath I hadn’t quite drawn. The chill that slid down my spine wasn’t from the breeze. It was colder, deeper—lodged somewhere inside my bones. I didn’t turn…. I couldn’t.
