Footsteps crossed the floor above.
The basement door opened.
Marcus came down alone.
He had changed his shirt before dinner.
He smelled like food and cologne.
His face looked relaxed, almost cheerful, because he believed the people upstairs had accepted his story.
He stopped outside the cage and studied me.
Then he looked at the blood on the metal floor.
The sight did not frighten him.
It pleased him.
“They believe me,” he said.
I said nothing.
He crouched until his face was level with mine.
He reminded me that I had no phone, no key, and no one coming.
I kept one hand over the hidden device and looked back at him.
That refusal unsettled him more than pleading ever had.
He struck the cage with his boot.
The bars shook.
The phone nearly slipped from my fingers.
Another contraction hit before the vibration stopped.
I bent forward, protecting my stomach, and Marcus laughed.
