JANAYAH

The sound of the iron bolt sliding home was the period at the end of my life. Clack.

It wasn't just a sound; it was a physical severance. It cut off the sky, the air, the faint hope of morning light, and the last lingering connection to the world where Mace existed.

I was left in a darkness so absolute it felt thick, like velvet soaked in ice water pressed against my open eyes. The silence wasn't empty; it was heavy, pressurized, filled with the echoing vibrations of the slamming door and the sudden, terrifying rush of my own blood in my ears.

My heart was a trapped bird...