Scrape.
Like something pressing itself against the metal, testing it, as if learning the shape of what kept it out.
My breath seemed too loud in my own ears. My pulse hammered in my throat, behind my eyes. Every part of me wanted to step back, but I couldn’t make myself let go of the handle. Like if I did, whatever waited on the other side would sense it.
Sloane stood a few feet behind me. Her breathing filled the silence—fast, shallow in the way people breathe when they’re trying very hard not to fall apart. She watched the door. I didn’t have to look to understand that.
Neither of us spoke.
The scraping stopped, and that seemed worse.
The aquarium stretched out behind us, the only sound now the low swoosh of filtration systems running deep in the building and the blood still pounding in my ears.
We were inside.
Safe.
For now.
I slid down to the floor, my legs giving out beneath me before I could stop it.
My back hit the cold metal with a dull thud. My chest heaved, each breath sharp and uneven, as if my lungs couldn’t quite figure out how to work anymore.
In. Out. Too fast. Not enough.
My hands were shaking so badly I had to press them flat against the floor just to steady them. The concrete seemed cold and gritty under my palms, and I focused on that because if I didn’t anchor myself to something small and real, I might very well lose it.
My ears rang, adrenaline still pumping through my bloodstream with nowhere left to go.
Outside, something scraped weakly against the door.
I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing myself to breathe. Slower. Deeper. Counting the seconds between each inhale—counting.
I opened my eyes and looked at Sloane.
She sat on the floor across from me, her back against theinterior door that led into the aquarium itself, her knees drawn up tight to her chest, arms wrapped around them as if they were the only thing holding her together. Her hair had fallen loose completely, dark red strands clinging to damp cheeks.
The sound of her softly crying was the only sound outside my breathing.
Tears slid down her face, eyes fixed on nothing.
Something twisted low in my chest at the sight.
I’d never seen her cry before. Never seen her look anything less than controlled. Defiant. Angry, maybe. Sharp-tongued and sure of herself, always. But never this.
Fragile.
I swallowed, my throat dry and raw.
“You okay?” I asked.
A stupid question. I knew it even as it left my mouth.
She let out a weak, humorless laugh, her voice trembling.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “I’m great.”
Her fingers curled tighter around her arms, shoulders shaking slightly.