He steps through the doorway and looks back one last time. “You’re another stray who wandered into traffic. And he’s too far away to drag you out of the road.”
The slam of the door reverberates through the shelter, a vibrating pulse that seems to settle into the bones of every woman trapped here. For a long moment, nobody breathes. Nobody speaks. Fear turns thick enough to choke on.
I brace a hand against the chain-link, grounding myself in the bite of metal against my skin. Tiny’s name buzzes behind my teeth, but I don’t let it out again. Not now. Not in front of Lattimer’s ghosts. I refuse to give him that victory.
A soft whimper breaks the silence.
I turn toward the sound. A girl, maybe nineteen, maybe younger, huddles with her forehead pressed to her knees. Her wrists tremble violently, and every inhale comes in a sharp, panicked burst.
Another woman across the row whispers, “He’s right. He always comes back. He always takes us back.”
“No,” I say softly. “He doesn’t.” My voice sounds steadier than I feel, but the steadiness matters more. Something in me shifts, finally, painfully. Lattimer wanted to crack me open. Instead, he reminded me of who I refuse to be anymore. The girl in the motel room who couldn’t stop shaking, who couldn't breathe unless Nadia counted for her. I am not her anymore. Not now, not ever again.
Shifting closer to the cage wall, I wrap my fingers around the fence and whisper to the young girl. “Hey… look at me. You’re okay. You’re here. You’re breathing.”
“I… I can’t,” she chokes out. “I can’t do this again.”
Not I can’t do this, but I can’t do this again. The word slices through me.
Lattimer doesn’t collect new victims. He recycles them.
My stomach rolls.
But I keep my voice calm. Slow. Rhythmic. The way my therapist taught me when panic tries to swallow everything. “Match my breath, okay? In… two… three… four. Hold it. Out… two… three… four.”
She tries. Fails. Tries again.
I keep breathing with her until the jagged edges of her panic begin to smooth.
Then another woman leans in her cage. “Can… can we do it too?”
Inside me, something blooms. A small flame of purpose, of hope I didn’t know I still had.
“Yes,” I whisper. “All of us.”
Seven cages. Seven women. Seven rhythms of fear are slowly aligning.
For the first time since Lattimer walked in, I see it. These women are not just terrified bodies in cages. They are survivors, like Nadia, Exleigh, and me. And if I can breathe, they can breathe.
“You’re not alone,” I tell them. “And you’re not dying here.”
A few nod. One cries quietly, but with relief instead of terror. And then the room settles. Not into peace. But into readiness.
Into survival.
I’m about to start another round of breathing when I hear it. A faint scraping sound comes from above my head. Metal shifts in the vent running along the ceiling. Dust flakes fall in a lazy sprinkle. I narrow my eyes. The duct trembles again. A sharp, frustrated cry echoes inside the metal.
My heart stops. “No way…”
Another shove from inside the duct. A louder scrape. Then a tiny black and white paw pokes through one of the loosened vent slats. Then another.
A smudged, soot-covered face squeezes through the gap like a determined little escape artist.
Peanut forces her way through, tail flicking in outrage, and tumbles into my cage with a soft thud.
I gasp. Not with fear, not with panic, but with hope.
“You crazy little thing…” My voice cracks as I scoop her up. “How did you?”