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Would I do it? Could I be that character? Would a survivor do it? I looked down at where Rien had marked the skin on Gary’s neck. One cut. One cut and I would be free.

Maybe.

Of course, there was no guarantee that Rien would keep his word. I swallowed and leaned forward, resting the scalpel against Gary’s neck. My hand was trembling. I imagined pushing down, slicing through the skin—

My body was shaking, ready to spin away and run. This was a nightmare that I couldn’t wake up from. Even my movements were dreamlike. I couldn’t. Not now. I felt Rien’s eyes on me and I realized what I was doing. I pulled the blade back.

“I can’t do it,” I said. “I can’t kill him.”

“Why not?” Rien said.

“Why not? I don’t know. I…”

Because I can’t.

Because a survivor would save herself without killing anybody.

Because I’m weak.

“He’s a terrible person. He’s killed hundreds.”

Gary’s voice struggled to be heard.

“He wants to talk,” I said.

“You want to give him his last words?” Rien said. “Fine.”

He hooked his finger into the gag and pulled it out. The tape holding it to Gary’s skin ripped off one of his scabs. Blood began to flow down that side of his face again. Gary shouted at me, his voice hoarse.

“Kill him! Kill him!” He was frantic, spittle bubbling at the corners of his mouth. “Kill the motherfucking bastard now!”

I looked up at Rien, who only shrugged.

“Stab him with the knife!” Gary screamed.

“It’s a scalpel,” Rien said.

I looked down at the scalpel in my hand. It didn’t seem big enough to kill anyone. I sure as hell wasn’t about to attack Rien with it. It was a precision weapon, not something I could lash out with.

“Stab him! Stab him with the knife!”

“It’s not a knife,” Rien said patiently. “Knives are for butchers. What she’s holding is a scalpel.”

“Kill him!” Gary cried out. “For the love of God, kill him!”

“No.”

I put the scalpel down on the table. My hands were shaking and I clasped them together in front of me. I wasn’t going to take orders from anyone here. I wasn’t going to become a killer. As soon as I let go of the scalpel, I felt a rush of relief. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t the right thing to do. Not for me, not for a survivor.

“I don’t want to kill anyone,” I said.

“He’ll keep you locked up forever. He’ll torture you. He’ll—”

“Put the gag back in,” I said to Rien. Rien raised his eyebrows, but stuffed the ball of cotton into Gary’s mouth. Gary thrashed around angrily.

“I don’t want to kill anyone. Not you,” I said, looking down at Gary, then back to Rien. “And not you. Not even if it means staying here forever. Okay?”

“Okay,” Rien said. His eyes had dimmed, the gold shimmer turning dull as he focused his attention elsewhere. “I won’t kill him yet, Sara. In case you change your mind.”

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