The plan, such as it was, came to him during a particularly grim bathroom break. Scar-eyebrow had cut the zip ties at Ewen’s wrists - leaving his ankles bound - and hauled him upright. Ewen’s legs nearly gave out completely. His feet had gone numb hours ago, and pins and needles shot through his calves as his blood flow slowly caught up to the fact they were supposed to be walking.
“Move,” Scar-eyebrow grunted, shoving Ewen toward the door.
Ewen shuffled forward, zip ties cutting into his ankles with each hop-step. His fox stirred, his whine hopeful this time. His animal spirit understood freedom, even if it came in three-minute increments between a moldy basement and a bathroom that smelled like something had died in it.
You could shift, his fox suggested.During bathroom time. Hands free. Could shift.
Ewen’s pulse kicked up. His fox feet were smaller than his human ones - the zip ties on his ankles would slide right off. So long as his fox didn’t get caught in his clothes after the shift, they could make it work. He might not be able to fight his way out of a paper bag, but his fox was used to slipping out of the neck of his shirt.
We wouldn’t have to fight,Ewen reasoned.Maybe get in a few snaps of teeth to make people think we might fight if they get too close.But basically, the best idea would be to run. He was a fast runner when he was motivated, and small enough to slip through gaps a human might ignore.
But…there was always a but…Scar-eyebrow, or any of the other goons never left him alone. The guard stood outside the bathroom door, sometimes inside if the guy was particularly paranoid or being creepy. That meant if Ewen did shift into his fox form, in front of a human, he’d be breaking the first rule every paranormal learned - don’t reveal your true nature. The paranormal community survived by staying hidden, blending in, making humans believe shifters, vampires, and magic were nothing more than stories.
Ewen didn’t have any idea what would happen if he broke that rule - especially in his current circumstances. Who was going to believe the word of a criminal mind if the guards ever told anyone? But he couldn’t forget the lectures he’d had from his parents before he’d even shifted for the first time, about shifter council guards who would just appear out of nowhere, and the shifters who broke the rules who were “disappeared.”
A bit like I have been already, Ewen thought.
It would be better to die trying to escape than rot in this basement, his fox pointed out.
Another fair point.I’d rather we didn’t die if we can help it.
The knife complicated things. Scar-eyebrow wore one strapped to his thigh, his right hand always resting near the hilt, as though he was worried Ewen would try and grab it. Ewen had cataloged the weapon during previous bathroom breaks - it was a six-inch blade, partially serrated, and the handle was wrapped in black paracord. The kind of knife that said its owner knew how to use it.
A fox, even a healthy one, wouldn’t survive a knife fight at close quarters. And Ewen was so far from healthy that his vision grayed when he stood too fast.
But if I don’t try soon, I won’t have the strength to shift at all.
That was the real problem. Ewen could feel himself fading, human and fox both withering under the combined weight of captivity, starvation, and mating sickness. Another few days and he’d be too weak to manage the shift. His fox would retreat so deep into his mind that coaxing the animal out would be impossible. It was only a matter of days before his fox could die, and if that happened, it wouldn’t be long after that before Ewen did, too. The mating sickness, apparently, was a real bitch in that respect.
It’s now or never.
Except if he shifted and failed - if Scar-eyebrow caught him, or the woman decided a dead journalist was easier to handle than a stubborn one - Ewen would never see Lamont again. He’d never find out why the man hadn’t helped him, or the answers to any of the other questions that had haunted his captivity.
His fox perked up at the thought of Lamont, some distant hope flickering in the animal’s eyes.Find mate. Explain. Make him understand.
“Pathetic,” Ewen muttered to himself as he shook himself off.
“What?” Scar-eyebrow looked up from his phone.
“Nothing.”
The guard grunted and went back to scrolling.
Ewen shifted his weight, testing the zip ties still around his ankles. They were tight enough to bite but not tight enough to cut off circulation completely. His wrists ached where the previous ties had rubbed skin raw, scabs cracking every time he moved. Blood crusted under his nails and in the creases of his palms.
Back in his chair, fresh ties cutting new lines into his wrists, Ewen kept thinking about a way out.If I can shift during the next bathroom break... The plan started to form, disjointed and desperate, but a plan, nonetheless.If I can get the ties off my ankles… If I can get past the guard... If I can find a way out of the building…
There were so many ifs. But the alternative was waiting like a lump on a log until the woman decided he had nothing left to give. The disposal conversation he’d overheard made it clear how that was going to end.
I’ll do it, Ewen decided. It’s not like he had any other choices left.At the next bathroom break. I shift, I run, and I don’t look back.
His fox yipped approval, tail wagging for the first time in days.
And when we get out, Ewen promised his animal half,we’ll find Lamont.We’ll track him down and get our answers.
The fox settled, happy with the make-shift plan. Ewen wished he shared his animal’s optimism. The more likely outcome was that they’d both die in a murky basement, forgotten by everyone except maybe Louise back at the office.I hope she waters my fern. That poor thing shouldn’t have to die just because I did.
It was some hours later when the sound of footsteps on the stairs pulled Ewen from his spiraling thoughts. Heavy ones. One of the guards. He straightened in the chair, his spine cracking as his vertebrae realigned. His body protested the movement, his muscles seized after being locked into position for so long.