JANAYAH

Time didn't exist in the dark. There was only the cold, seeping into the marrow of my bones, and the smell of my own degradation—dried blood, stale urine, and the damp, earthy rot of the cellar.

I lay curled in the dirt, a tight ball of misery, trying to conserve warmth that I didn't have. My body was a landscape of dull aches and sharp, stabbing pains left over from Michael’s assault. I didn't know how long it had been. Hours? Days? It felt like a lifetime. It felt like I had always been here, and the time in the cabin with Mace, the time of warmth and softness,...