ALIANA

I remain still in my seat, with my wrists tied and ankles secured to a metal ring on the ground while I observe Michael on the screen.

The scent of bleach and moist concrete fills the room. One of the men accidentally left the TV on—or perhaps intentionally. I’m uncertain what is more severe.

The banner for the press conference sits at the bottom of the screen.

HAMILTON'S CASE.

My heart begins to race so intensely it aches.

He remains poised behind the podium.

His voice is calm, deliberate, as if nothing in the world is amiss but I know better.

That tranquility indicates he’s bleeding internally.

I move...