Chapter six_Not this round
1047 Words
Mira Pov
The line didn't break immediately after the men left.
For a few seconds, everyone just stood there.
Like nobody knew if they were allowed to move.
The side door had already closed behind the girls they'd taken, but I couldn't stop looking at it.
Five girls went just like that.
The room feels bigger now, not because it actually was.
Because there were fewer people inside it.
The silence stretched until one of the guards near the wall finally spoke.
"Sit."
People moved immediately.
I sat too.
The moment I reached the bench, my legs felt heavier than before. Across the room, one of the girls suddenly burst into tears. Not the quiet crying I'd been hearing all day.
Real crying, the kind that came from somewhere deep.
"No," she whispered. "No, no, no..."
Nobody told her to stop, nobody comforted her either, everyone looked away and somehow, it felt worse.
The girl beside me wrapped her arms around herself.
"I knew she'd get picked."
I turned toward her.
"What?"
She swallowed.
"The blonde girl."
I tried to remember which one.
"The second one."
"Oh."
The girl nodded.
"They always look at girls like her."
The way she said it always made me stare.
"How long have you been here?"
She looked surprised by the question.
Then she frowned.
"I don't know."
That answer shouldn't have scared me, but it did.
Because she sounded serious, not confused, not uncertain.
Like she'd genuinely stopped counting.I glanced around the room again.
There were no windows, no clocks, nothing that told time.
A cold feeling settled into my stomach.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Jenna."
At least that sounded normal.
Human.
A regular conversation in a place that felt anything but regular.
"I'm Mira."
She nodded.
Then after a moment, she asked quietly, "Do you have family?" The question hit harder than it should have.
"Just my grandmother."
Jenna's expression changed slightly.
Not pity.
Something closer to regret.
"I hope she's okay."
My throat tightened.
Because I hadn't let myself think about that.
Not properly, the last thing I'd heard was her voice when she said run and I left her bleeding on the floor.
I stared down at my hands.
"Yeah."
The word came out weaker than I intended.
"I hope so too."
Nobody spoke for a while after that.
The room had settled into an uneasy quiet.
Not calm, just exhausted. Eventually, food arrived.If it could even be called food.
A cart was pushed through the room carrying plastic trays.
The smell alone wasn't encouraging, people lined up anyway, hunger apparently beat dignity after enough hours.
I accepted a tray because everyone else did.
The food looked gray, which wasn't an encouraging sign. Jenna poked hers suspiciously.
"At least they're feeding us."
"That's your positive takeaway?"
She shrugged.
"I'm trying."
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
A real one. Small.
Brief. But real.
Jenna blinked.
Then I laughed too.
For a second, we sounded like two normal girls complaining about bad cafeteria food, not prisoners, not captives.
Just girls.
The moment disappeared quickly but it helped a little.
Hours seemed to pass after that, or maybe it was minutes.
I honestly couldn't tell anymore. People drifted into conversations, others sat alone, one girl slept curled up against a wall, another kept pacing until a guard told her to stop. Nothing happened. And somehow that made everything worse because every time the door stayed closed, I found myself waiting for it to open again.
The waiting became its own kind of torture. At some point, Jenna leaned closer.
"You know what I think?"
I looked over.
"What?"
"I don't think we're all here for the same reason."
That got my attention immediately.
"What do you mean?"
She glanced around before lowering her voice.
"The girl they called usable."
I remembered her.
"The dark-haired one?"
Jenna nodded.
"I talked to her yesterday."
Yesterday.
The word made my brain stumble again.
How long had she really been here?
"What about her?"
"She said she'd been moved twice already."
"Moved where?"
"I don't know."
Jenna shook her head.
"She wouldn't tell me."
A strange feeling crawled up my spine.
"Maybe she didn't know."
"No."
Jenna's voice dropped lower.
"She knew."
That sat between us uncomfortable. The room suddenly felt smaller again, then the door opened, and every conversation stopped, every single one. The reaction was instant, like someone had pressed pause in the entire room.
A man entered, not one of the guards and also not one of the men from earlier either. This one looked different.
Older.
Better dressed.
And unlike everyone else I'd seen since arriving, he seemed completely relaxed. His gaze swept across the room casually, not searching, choosing.
That realization made my stomach twist.
He walked slowly between benches, nobody spoke and nobody moved.I watched him stop beside a girl near the far wall, and he tilted his head slightly, studied her. Then I kept walking.
The girl immediately started crying after he left.
The sound followed him across the room.
He didn't react, didn't even look back, my pulse began to pick up because I couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't random.
He wasn't inspecting the room, he was inspecting people one by one, Slowly, carefully, then he stopped right in front of me, every muscle in my body was locked.
The man looked down at a paper in his hand.
Then back at me, his eyes narrowed slightly, not in confusion, not in recognition.
The same thing I'd seen on the stranger's face at the diner.
My heartbeat stumbled.
The man studied me for several long seconds.
Then he smiled.
It wasn't a friendly smile. It wasn't cruel either,it was the kind of smile someone gives when they've finally found something they were looking for.
"Interesting," he said quietly.
Then he folded the paper, turned around and left just like that. The door closed behind him. Nobody moved, nobody spoke.
I stared at the place where he'd been standing.
The knot in my stomach is tightening.
Because for the first time since arriving here, I was completely certain of something.
That man hadn't been looking at everyone.
He'd come into the room looking for someone.
And somehow...
he'd found me.
- Writer
