Windsor's POV
The sound of running water from the bathroom felt like a gift from heaven. Mr. Sinclair and his obsession with those ridiculously long showers had finally worked in my favor. I knew I had minutes at most before he emerged, and I wasn't about to waste a single second.
I spun toward Pauline, who sat crumpled in the corner like a broken doll. Her face was ghostly pale, her breathing shallow and labored. The sight of her in this condition made my chest tighten with rage.
"Get up," I whispered urgently. "We're getting out of here. Now."
Her glassy eyes struggled to focus on me. When she tried to speak, her voice came out as barely more than a croak. "Windsor?"
"Come on, Polly." I kept my voice gentle despite the panic clawing at my throat. "You can do this. I know you can."
