The wrist cuffs were too tight to slip out of, but that didn’t stop Rune from trying. She struggled for several long minutes, twisting her hands until the plastic was slippery with her blood. When that failed, she tugged with all her might to rip them from the frame of the chair. Her efforts left her panting from exertion, but no closer to freedom. Undeterred, she tried again, chomping on her lip to keep from crying out as her joints strained in their sockets. This time, the bindings gave ever so slightly. It was all the encouragement she needed. She redoubled her efforts, madly pulling her arms until every bit of energy was drained from her. She paused to catch her breath.

You can do this. You can do this, she repeated silently, trying to summon the strength to continue. Failing was not an option. Not after what she had been through.

Creak … creak …

Rune’s eyes flicked sideways, wide and panicked. The sound was louder and more regular than before. She knew what it meant. Her captor was out there, pacing just outside the door—preparing for the next round of beatings, preparing to kill her. She angled her head to listen for the slightest change in his rhythm. The wait stretched on so long it was almost a relief when the creaking finally stopped. She let out a thin breath, but her relief was short-lived. Fear soon took its place. It started slowly—a twinge in the pit of her stomach, a metallic taste at the back of her throat. Then came the avalanche of terror at the thought of what was coming next. A high-pitched ringing filled her ears. Her muscles twitched uncontrollably. She released her bladder, soaking herself and her new dress. She whimpered as she felt what little control she had slip from her grasp.

Five … four … three … two … one … Five … four … three … two … one …

She counted down methodically. Obsessively. Bodily autonomy was no longer hers, but she still had her mind. That he could never take away from her.

Long seconds passed. The seconds turned to minutes, but still the door remained closed. Maybe this was his ploy all along—to terrify her to death. The fear was an iron band around her chest, constricting her breathing until she was gasping for air.

“Open the door, you bastard!” she shouted when she couldn’t stand the silence a moment longer. She had meant the words to come out defiantly, but her voice shook with a mix of angry terror. She tried again, more forcefully this time. “Did you hear me? I said open the goddamned door!” An eerie stillness greeted her words, but she knew he was out there. She had never been more certain of anything in her life.

With no other course of action, Rune resumed her compulsive counting. She was in the middle of her fifth set when she first noticed the rising temperature. New York in the summer was always a sloppy mess, but this was something different. The room felt hotter than it did even moments before. The drops of sweat that dotted her forehead were now steady rivulets. Her breathing was more labored.

It’s all in your head, Rune chastised herself silently. She had almost convinced herself when an acrid smell crept into her nostrils. Then her eyes started to burn, and it wasn’t the wretched contacts.

“No!” Rune croaked. The realization of what he had done came crashing down on her. All that creaking—it wasn’t him pacing outside the door. It was the sound of wood being transformed—at a molecular level—by heat. The building was on fire, and she was trapped inside.

“Help!” she cried out, even though there was no one around to hear her. “Somebody! Please, help me!”

She redoubled her efforts to free herself, roaring with fear and rage as smoke poured into the room. She didn’t want to die this way—alone in the dark. She didn’t want to die at all. A fit of coughing wracked her body, but still Rune struggled, thrashing wildly as she fought to free herself from her restraints. “Let me out!” she screamed, thrashing and pulling with more strength than she knew she possessed.

It wasn’t just the prospect of an excruciating death that drove Rune to shred her skin and sprain her own wrist. It was knowing that her dying would doom the only people she loved in the world—Kit, her boyfriend of nearly a year, and Madee, the precocious kid sister he’d been raising for over a decade. Without her, Kit was as good as dead. And with both of them gone, there would be no one left to look for Madee. Spunky, gapped-toothed Madee—all of fifteen years old. Rune choked back a sob. The cost of her failures filled her with profound sadness. The feeling washed over her. It blotted out fear. It blotted out everything.

The smoke in the room thickened, caressing Rune’s body and slithering into her orifices. Her movements slowed as her energy began to wane. A rattled gasp slipped from her lips. Tears streamed down her face. She wondered, as she had repeatedly over the past seven days, just how it had come to this. She opened her mouth to call for help one last time, but the words stayed lodged in her throat.

So this is how it ends, she said silently as she felt herself start to let go. All the tension and gut-knotting fear that had gripped her began to seep from her body. Her eyelids fluttered shut. Her body went slack. There was nothing left to do but to accept the inevitable. And so, with a final labored breath, she did.