Evette's eyes flutter open, her head throbbing as she takes in her surroundings. The room is dark and cold, the walls a dull, lifeless gray. The only source of light is a small candle flickering in the corner, casting eerie shadows across the empty space.
There are no windows, no furniture—just a single door standing ominously in the distance.
She shifts, realizing her hands are loosely tied. A spark of hope ignites in her chest as her gaze lands on a small shard of glass a few inches away. Gritting her teeth, she stretches her fingers toward it, the rough floor scraping against her skin. It takes effort, her limbs sluggish and weak, but finally, she grips the sharp edge.
With slow, careful movements, she saws at the bindings around her wrists. The rope frays, then snaps. She wastes no time cutting the restraints around her ankles, ignoring the sting of the glass biting into her skin.
Evette pushes herself up, her legs unsteady beneath her. Just as she steadies herself, the door creaks open. Her heart pounds as she snatches the shard of glass and hurls it toward the figure standing in the doorway.
The person is completely covered—dark clothing concealing every inch of them, their face hidden in the shadows. The shard strikes them, and they stumble back with a muffled grunt.
Without wasting a second, Evette bolts out of the room. Her breath comes in quick gasps as she races down a long, narrow hallway lined with identical doors. Each one looks just like the one she came from cold, gray, unwelcoming.
She doesn't stop. She runs and runs, her feet pounding against the hard floor. The hallway feels endless, stretching on forever.
Then she sees it a crack in the gray ceiling just up ahead. Hope surges through her chest. She leaps, hoisting herself up, her fingers gripping the edges as she hammers at the weak spot with her fist.
The crack widens. Pieces crumble away. Light spills through the opening.
With one final push, the ceiling gives in, creating just enough space. Evette doesn't hesitate she pulls herself up, crawling into the light.
Evette crawls out and drops into a narrow alleyway, her knees scraping against the rough ground. The air outside is cool, but her body is burning with adrenaline. She stumbles forward, her breath ragged, and runs out of the alley.
She finds herself on a busy street lined with shops. People walk past her, laughing, talking, completely unaware of what just happened to her. She forces herself to stop shaking, inhaling deeply as she tries to get her bearings.
Her college should be about a kilometer away. She just needs to get there.
Reaching into her pocket, she searches for her phone, but her fingers close around something else. A single dollar bill.
Her stomach sinks. That's all she has.
Evette waves down a taxi, and it pulls up beside her, the window rolling down smoothly. The driver, a middle-aged man with tired eyes, glances at her. "Where to?"
"Westgate," she says, her voice steadier than she feels.
The driver raises an eyebrow. "You sure?"
She nods. "Yeah."
He shrugs. "That'll be two dollars."
Evette reaches into her pocket, her fingers brushing against the single bill. Her stomach tightens. "I only have one."
The driver studies her for a moment before sighing. "One should do, then. Hop in."
Evette shifts uncomfortably in her seat, her mind racing. Anyone could kidnap her right now, and no one would know. She grips the edge of her hoodie, forcing herself to stay calm.
The driver glances at her through the mirror. "You okay?"
"Yeah," she says, trying to keep her tone casual.
A few minutes later, he pulls up at Westgate and waits as she digs the crumpled bill from her pocket. She hands it to him, and he smiles before driving off.
Evette turns to face the massive gates of Westgate, her heart pounding as she steps through them.
All around her, students chat and laugh, oblivious to the chaos still raging inside her. Their carefree conversations blend into a distant hum as she weaves through the crowd, her breathing uneven, her pulse hammering in her ears. No one looks her way. No one notices the way her hands tremble at her sides or how her hoodie is slightly torn at the sleeve. To them, she is just another student heading back to her dorm.
Her fingers shake as she reaches for the door handle. She hesitates for a second, taking a slow breath to steady herself, then pushes it open. The familiar scent of her dorm washes over her, but it does nothing to ease the weight pressing on her chest.
Inside, Evan is sitting on the couch, his phone in his hand, his eyebrows knitted and a fown upon his face.
The second his eyes land on her, his whole body tenses. His phone lowers slightly in his grip. Concern flashes across his face, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced with something more serious.
"Evette?" His voice is softer than usual, cautious. He stands up quickly, taking a step toward her, eyes scanning her from head to toe. "What happened? I was looking for you—" He stops himself, but his expression says enough. He's worried.
Evette steps forward without thinking, burying herself in Evan's arms as tears spill down her cheeks. A shaky sob escapes her as she grips the back of his shirt, holding on like he's the only solid thing in her world right now.
Evan doesn't hesitate, his arms wrap around her tightly, pulling her close. His warmth, his steady heartbeat against her cheek, makes her feel just a little less like she's falling apart.
His voice is gentle but firm. "Evette, what happened?" He leans back slightly, just enough to look at her face, his hands resting on her shoulders. His brows are drawn together in concern, his eyes searching hers for answers.
Evette opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out—only more shaky sobs. She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to steady herself, but the fear, the confusion, the exhaustion all crash over her at once.
Evan doesn't say anything. He just lifts a hand and gently wipes away her tears with, his touch careful, almost hesitant. His presence is grounding, steady, like an anchor in the chaos swirling inside her.
Slowly, he steps closer, closing the space between them. The familiar scent of vanilla and roses grows stronger, wrapping around Evette like a quiet comfort. Her breath catches in her throat as she finally looks up at him, her vision still blurred with tears.
Evan presses his lips to hers, gentle yet certain, and for a fleeting moment, the weight of fear and exhaustion lifts. Evette melts into the warmth of his touch, her hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring herself to reality.
For a second, everything else fades—the dark room, the glass shard, the panic pounding in her chest. All she knows is the softness of his lips, the sweet taste of his mouth, for a moment she feels comforted until Evan pulls away.
His gaze searches hers with quiet concern. He gently tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch light and comforting.
"It's okay," he whispers, his voice steady. "You're safe now."
Evette exhales shakily, the exhaustion crashing over her like a wave. The adrenaline that had kept her moving drains away, leaving her heavy and drained. She doesn't fight it. Slowly, she sinks down, resting her head in his lap.
The scent of vanilla and roses lingers in the air as her eyelids flutter shut. Sleep pulls her under, and for the first time since waking in that dark room, she lets herself believe just for a moment that she is truly safe.