Page 90 of Ruined

Ipress my back against the cold concrete wall, trying to make myself smaller. Hours have passed since the silent guard shoved a metal tray with cold soup and stale bread through the slot in the door. I barely touched it, my stomach too knotted with fear to eat even though I was hungry some hours ago.

"Jessica?" I say, tapping our childhood code against the wall again. Nothing. The silence from her cell terrifies me more than anything Ivan might do to me. Why isn't she answering?

My eyelids grow heavy as exhaustion pulls at me. I slide lower down the wall. Maybe I can rest, just for a moment...

A crash outside the door jolts me awake. Men's voices—angry, struggling. Something heavy slams against the wall.

"Get him down!" someone says, followed by the sound of a fist connecting with bone.

My heart pounds against my ribs as I scramble to my feet. I scan the barren cell frantically—concrete floor, concrete walls, a metal toilet bolted to the corner, exposed pipes running along the ceiling. Nowhere to hide, nowhere to run.

"Check the other rooms!" a voice commands, closer now.

I back into the farthest corner, eyes fixed on the door. The lock rattles. I grab the metal tray from the floor, clutching it with white knuckles. It's flimsy, pathetic, but it's all I have.

"She's in here somewhere," a man growls outside.

More shuffling, a grunt of pain. The lock clicks.

I raise the tray like a shield, my breathing shallow and quick. Who's coming through that door? Ivan's men? Or worse—Ivan himself?

The door swings open. Light floods the dark cell.

I squint against the brightness, the tray shuddering in my hands.

A silhouette appears in the doorway, tall and imposing. My eyes struggle to adjust to the sudden light but there's something very familiar about the shape, the stance.

"Evelyn." His voice breaks through the haze.

I blink rapidly, still clutching the pathetic metal tray. It can't be. My mind must be playing tricks, conjuring what I want to see after hours in this darkness.

"Evelyn," he says again, stepping closer, his face coming into focus.

Noah.

The tray slips from my fingers, clattering to the ground. I stare at him, frozen in disbelief. His shirt is torn at the shoulder, a streak of blood on his cheek, but it's him. Noah is here, standing in front of me, his dark eyes scanning my face with unmistakable relief.

"Are you—?" I start, my voice cracking from disuse and emotion. "Are you real?"

He moves toward me and I flinch instinctively, still not trusting what I'm seeing. He stops, understanding flickering across his face.

"I'm real," he says, his voice gentler. "I'm here."

I reach out a trembling hand, needing to touch him to believe. My fingertips brush his chest, feeling the solid warmth beneath his shirt, the rapid beating of his heart.

"Noah," I whisper, finally accepting what I'm seeing. "How did you?—?"

"Later," he cuts me off, glancing back towards the hallway. "We need to move. Now."

The reality of our situation crashes back into me. "Jessica," I blurt out. "She's here, in the next cell. And Michael?—"

"Matteo's got your sister," Noah says, reaching for my hand. "Alessio is checking the other rooms."

I take a step toward him, my legs unsteady after sitting so long. Noah's arm wraps around my waist, supporting me without hesitation.

Noah's eyes lock with mine, something fierce and unguarded burning in them. He pulls me closer, his hand gripping my waist like he's afraid I might disappear. "Don't ever do that again," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "Do you understand me? Never again."

I want to argue, to remind him that Jessica is my sister, that I had no choice. But the raw pain in his expression stops me.

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