(Nolan)
I stopped trying to count the time.
At first, I kept track by meals, footsteps, doors opening, doors closing. It gave me something to do while I sat there with cuffs on my wrists and pain in places I didn’t want to move.
Then the count stopped making sense.
One day became another. Morning sounded like afternoon. Night sounded like silence. The men guarding me changed places without telling me anything, and nobody cared enough to explain what was happening outside that room.
That was worse than the blindfold.
Not knowing.
Not knowing if my parents were still at the motel. Not knowing if they were looking for me. Not knowing if the asshole they called Prez had already decided what he was going to do with me.
No.
Mira.
That was what she called herself now.
And after the way
