RILEY
Honestly, if you were going to be held hostage somewhere, this was the way to do it.
Nobody touched me. Nobody threatened me. The food was decent, the room was clean, the bed was softer than anything I'd slept on in the last six months of my actual real life. If it weren't for the locked doors and the two guards posted outside every single exit, you could almost convince yourself this was a vacation.
Almost.
Three days in, I'd stopped being scared. Five days in, I'd stopped being angry. Now I was just tired. The bone-deep, soul-crushing kind of tired that came from waiting for something to happen while everyone else decided your fate in rooms you weren't invited to.
The president, as his men called him, had told me this morning that I might be getting released today.
Might.
