Running Toward the Border
Freya's Point of View
His arms were still around her, and they felt like iron.
Not the cold iron of the ropes that had held her to the bed frame earlier. This was different. Warmer. But no less immovable.
She had no tears left. She had used the last of them somewhere in the hours between being knocked unconscious in the corridor and waking up tied to that bed in the dark. What was left now was just the dry, hollow feeling that comes after everything has already spilled out and there is nothing left to give.
She should have left when he told her to.
That thought sat in her chest with the particular weight of things that are true and useless at the same time. She had stayed because she needed something to wear, and that decision had put her on the floor of thi
