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I felt Caleb’s fingers twitch against mine, small and shaky, but alive. Relief almost made me cry right there on the floor, but I swallowed it down. We didn’t have the luxury of emotion — not yet.
“Stay still,” I whispered, barely moving my lips. “We have to wait.”
His breathing was uneven, like he was fighting to stay conscious. Whatever Ethan had put in the food hadn’t fully taken hold — maybe the dose was wrong, or maybe we hadn’t eaten enough. Either way, it was the only advantage we had.
Minutes passed like hours. Every creak of the apartment made my heart jump. I kept expecting the door to open again, expecting Ethan to come back for something he forgot. But he didn’t.
When I was sure he was gone, I slowly pushed myself up. The room spun violently, but I forced myself to stay upright. Caleb groaned softly beside me, and I pulled him into my arms.
“We have to move,” I said quietly. “Right now.”
I grabbed my phone from the table, hands trembling so badly I could barely unlock it. I didn’t call immediately — not yet. If Ethan had planned this carefully, I couldn’t risk him realizing too soon that we were still alive.
Instead, I dialed emergency services but didn’t press call. I kept it ready.
“Can you stand?” I asked Caleb.
He nodded weakly.
We moved slowly, supporting each other as we made our way to the back hallway. Every step felt heavy, like my body was still trying to shut down. My vision blurred at the edges, but I kept going.
Then I heard it.
The front door.
A key turning.
My blood ran cold.
“He’s back,” Caleb whispered.
I didn’t think — I reacted.
I pulled him into the laundry closet just as the door creaked open. We squeezed into the tight space, surrounded by detergent bottles and hanging coats. I shut the door just enough to leave a small crack.
Ethan’s footsteps echoed through the apartment.
Slow. Careful.
He wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t panicked.