Fallon
TWO DAYS LATER
My body is a map of pain, each bruise marking a different moment from the basement. Two days out, and I still feel the damp concrete against my skin, still taste the musty air that fills my lungs for hours on end.
“The guys want a break, and I need a smoke, hurry up,” Igor orders Rebecca.
Rebecca doesn’t turn around, though I see her shoulders tense at his voice. She knows what he’s capable of. So do I now, after I had a panic attack last night when Mikhail ordered me back to the basement. Seems I’m allowed out during the day. Night is different; I’m not trusted being let out at night.
They can lock me in that basement every night, which Igor does with methodical cruelty. During daylight, I’m gathering information, mapping exits, learning routines of his men and
