I still didn’t move. I waited, counting the seconds, as the weight of my freedom settled over me like a shroud. Then, in one swift, silent movement, I rolled onto my side, my hands instinctively reaching for the ropes around my ankles.
The floor beneath me was cold and gritty, the texture biting into my palms as I worked on the knots. My fingers trembled, but my focus was laser sharp.
I could feel the weight of their presence, just out of view, the unspoken threat that hung in the air. But I didn’t look up. I didn’t dare.
The knots were tight, but I worked at them with a desperate precision, my fingers moving deftly. One by one, the strands gave way, and I was free.
I didn’t allow myself to feel relief, not yet. I knew the moment I moved, the moment I made a sound, they would be on me.
