POV: Zina
The room fell into a suffocating silence the moment Xaden left. My heart pounded like a war drum in my chest, my breathing shallow as I tugged against the restraints on my wrists. The leather straps dug into my skin, burning with every desperate pull, but I didn't stop. I couldn't. Not now. Not when I'd seen the monster behind Xaden's perfect mask.
The dim light flickered above me, casting long, shifting shadows across the walls. My head was still spinning, and the ache where I'd hit the stairs throbbed with every heartbeat. But the pain wasn't enough to drown out the voice screaming in my mind.
Get out. Get out. GET OUT.
I bit down on the rising panic and focused. There had to be a way to escape. There always was, right? Heroes in movies always found a way. Even if they were tied to a chair, or locked in a dungeon, they'd think fast, find a loose screw, a hidden knife. Something.
