Page 54 of Operation: Defiance

Then the pain in my hand recedes into numbness. I notice the change without reacting. File it away. Numb is better than loud.

My body is failing me in pieces. My brain is still trying to organize them.

“Do you need a breath?” he asks when both my wrists are free.

No. The word fractures before it finishes forming. I don’t need air.

I need…something to aim at.

Asher

The heavy shackles around her ankles cost us seconds we don’t have. Metal on metal. Too loud in a room that feels like it’s listening.

When they finally give, I pause. “I’m going to unstrap you now, then help you up.”

“No!” The word breaks loose, so sharp and panicked, I think she’s about to hyperventilate. “Wait⁠—”

I freeze with my hand on the thick nylon band still binding her to the chair.

She draws in a breath from somewhere deep and ugly. Bracing herself. “I need to…stand…on my own.”

If I hadn’t started my career working kidnap and ransom cases, I’d stop her. But I’ve seen what long-term abuse can do to a person. Not just their body—their sense of control.

“I’ll remove the restraint, then take a step back. I won’t touch you unless you’re about to fall.” I unlock it, wait a single second to make sure she’s not about to collapse, and retreat.

Raine curls forward, then hisses as her bare feet touch the concrete. I’m sure she’s going down. Her legs shake hard enough the chair skids back.

But she stays upright.

Not steady. Not safe. Upright. It’s something.

She locks her knees, then eases off them in tiny increments. Her face is still hidden under the hood, but I can hear the nausea in the way she breathes through her nose.

“I’m up,” she says, though I’m not sure even she believes it.

“You’re in charge, Raine. Tell me what’s next.”

Raine

Every swallow drags against fabric. Warm, stale air, the fuzz on my teeth, the sour, artificial taste of whatever they forced me to eat—it’s all too much.

Stand. That’s the whole job. Just…stand.

“Can I remove the hood?” he asks.

“N-no. I think…I know where to go. Turns. Steps. Sixty…seconds.” My voice sounds far away. Not…mine anymore.

“Fifty-three,” Asher says.

He’s counting. Maybe I don’t have to.

I take my first step. My body lags, then catches up. Lags again. It doesn’t get to decide things for me. Not now.

“I’d feel better if you could see,” he says.

“No one ever…moved me without it. We’d draw attention.”

The space starts to open. I hear it. Wider. Louder. My skin prickles, every nerve lighting up and pulling back at the same time.