The lock clicked.
Alara froze, mid-step, her bare toes curling into the carpet. The sound was soft, but it felt deafening in the silence. Her grip tightened on the blanket draped over her shoulders, clutching it like a flimsy shield.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as the door creaked open.
He walked in.
The same man. Tall. Broad shoulders. Black shirt that looked too sharp for someone who could drag her off the street. His hair was neat, like he'd had all the time in the world to get ready before… whatever this was.
Alara's throat was so dry she almost couldn't speak. "W–where… where am I?"
He closed the door behind him with a slow, measured click. "You're awake."
"That's not an answer," she said quickly, voice trembling. "Please. I don't know this place, I don't know you. I just… I need to go home."
"You're safe," he said, his voice deep and steady.
Safe. The word made her skin prickle. "I woke up in a locked room," she said, shaking her head. "That's not safe. That's—" She swallowed hard. "That's something else."
"You're not leaving."
The words hit her like a punch in the stomach. Her knees felt unsteady, and she had to grip the blanket tighter. "Why? Did I do something? If this is—if this is about money, I don't have much. My family—"
"This isn't about money."
Her breath caught, and panic started to rise, sharp and dizzying. "Then what? What do you want from me?"
He took a step closer. She took one back.
"You're not here by accident," he said slowly, watching her face as if her reaction was important to him.
"I—what? No. No, that doesn't make any sense. I don't even know you." Her voice cracked halfway through, but she kept talking because if she stopped, the fear would swallow her whole. "I don't belong here. You've got the wrong person—"
"I don't."
The certainty in his voice made her stomach twist. "You're… you're wrong," she whispered, though even she could hear how weak it sounded.
"You belong here," he said again, and there was no hesitation in his tone, no space for argument.
Alara's lips parted, but no sound came out. Her mind scrambled for something—anything—that would make him change his mind, open the door, let her out. "I don't… I can't… you can't keep me here," she finally stammered.
His gaze dropped to the tray of untouched food on the table. "You should eat."
Her brows knitted. "What? No—don't change the subject. I'm not eating until you tell me what's going on. Where am I? Who are you?"
"You'll need your strength."
Her heartbeat thudded painfully. "For what?"
"The cage isn't the room, Alara," he said, his voice lower now, like he was letting her in on some secret she hadn't asked for. "It's me."
The words chilled her to her bones. "I… I don't know what that means," she whispered, her throat tight.
"You will," he said, and turned for the door.
She flinched at the sound of the lock sliding into place again.
For a long moment, she just stood there, staring at the door. The air felt heavier now, like the walls were leaning in closer. Her hands shook, so she pressed them against the blanket to hide it from herself.
Her mind raced. She didn't know this man. She didn't know where she was. There was no window to climb out of, no phone to call for help. Just four walls, a locked door, and the echo of his words lodged in her chest.
The cage isn't the room. It's me.
The thought made her sink onto the edge of the bed, her knees too weak to hold her. She pulled the blanket tighter, not because it was cold, but because it was the only thing she could hold onto.
She'd never felt so small.
She'd never felt so trapped.