Zoe's POV
"Chloe… Chloe. This way."
The voice sounded far off, like it was coming from under water. I blinked, once, then twice — until Margaret's face slowly came into focus. Her hand was on my arm, guiding me through a narrow corridor that smelled faintly of disinfectant and metal.
For a moment, I didn't know where I was.
Then it hit me — the dull buzz of fluorescent lights overhead, the heavy clack of a security door behind us, the echo of footsteps down the hall. The prison.
I swallowed hard, forcing my feet to move. My chest was tight — too tight — and every breath scraped against my ribs.
Margaret's voice softened. "You okay, sweetheart?"
I nodded quickly even though I wasn't. The word "sweetheart" still felt foreign when it came from her lips. It didn't feel like it was mine to claim.
