Emilia
Fifteen minutes. That’s all I get.
Vincent set the timer and placed the phone in my hand without a word. Then he leaned against the far wal, pretending not to watch me, but I could feel the weight of his silence pressing into my skin.
I opened my messages. Usual names. Cleo. Some group thread from Langdon that barely buzzed anymore. I almost locked the screen early.
Then I saw Julian’s name.
I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
Julian: I’m sorry.
Julian: I shouldn’t have done what I did.
Julian: If you want answers, meet me tomorrow. Back of the school. Noon. Just you and me.
My vision blurred for a second. My thumb hovered over the screen like it wasn’t part of my body.
Vincent said he was dangerous. That Julian’s father was a donor. That calling the police would’ve led nowhere. That people like Julian always landed on their feet and I’d be the one torn apart. That I was safer hidden. Controlled.
And maybe it was true.
But staring at those three messages now, every inch of me wanted to scream.
I want to hear him say it.
I want him to look me in the eye and explain why he touched me like he owned me.
Why he grinned while I cried.
Why he gets to keep walking free while I can’t breathe unless Vincent lets me.
I didn’t respond.
I just locked the phone. My hands were shaking.
“Done?” Vincent asked when the timer buzzed.
“Yes,” I said, handing it over. My voice didn’t crack.
He didn’t ask if anything came through. Didn’t look at the screen. And I didn’t tell him.
The rest of the day dragged like a weight chained to my ankle. Breakfast. Drills. Sketching time. Vincent’s voice echoed in my head even when he wasn’t in the room. Focus, Emilia. Stay sharp. Stay silent.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about that text. About Julian. About that night.
Vincent said he pulled strings. That he lied about me. That the people in charge looked the other way.
But he never showed me proof. He just locked the doors and made sure I followed orders.
What if he’s lying?
What if this whole thing—this prison—is built on a story he never had to prove?
What if Julian’s worse than I remember?
What if he’s not?
My thoughts spun until I couldn’t tell what was real.