Dust hovered lazily in the dim air drifting through thin rays of light that managed to bleed through the cracks in the wooden walls. The man with the knife placed the bomb remote on the ground with a strange care as if he were setting down something precious.
His finger slid across the glass surface like he was petting a favorite toy. Three minutes, he said in a calm voice that felt completely wrong in that place.
It was the voice of someone introducing features of a wristwatch not announcing a countdown to death. Enough for you to think about your mistakes.
The red light on the timer flicked on at that moment, glowing in the darkness like a small burning eye. The first number dropped three minutes eleven seconds, then three minutes ten seconds.
Aisha felt her knees buckle as if her bones had turned to water. Her breath broke apart into thin, jagged pieces that scraped her throat with every inhale.
She felt the walls closing in, the cold concrete floor pressing through her clothes. Mason! she screamed, the word cracking open the fear she had been trying to hold back.
We are going to die here. Her voice bounced across the old walls, echoing with the kind of desperation that came only when a person clung to the last speck of hope.
The sound came back to her, distorted, as if the house itself was mocking her panic. Malik lay beside her, his hands tied so tightly behind his back that his wrists had turned white.
His chest rose and fell at a frantic pace, faster than any normal breathing. It was the kind of breathing that belonged to someone running from danger, not lying helpless on a freezing floor.
His heart condition had always made him fragile. And now fear was crashing into him like another blow thrown straight at a body too tired to block it.
He tried to cry out, but his throat seemed to tighten with every attempt. Sis, Malik forced out each word fractured. I cannot breathe.
Aisha turned to him and froze. His lips were turning pale and the fear in his eyes was the kind of fear that no sibling should ever have to witness.
The cold of the abandoned building seeped in through her skin, colder than anything she had ever felt. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, tell him he was safe, tell him she would not let anything happen.
But her hands were twisted painfully behind her back, bound so tightly she could feel her fingers going numb. A hollow helplessness spread across her chest, heavier than any weight she had ever carried.
A few steps away, Mason opened his eyes again. A violent pulse of pain tore through his skull as the memory of the second hit flashed back.
It felt as if his head had been split apart, but he forced his eyes to focus. He could see the dim outlines of the broken furniture scattered around the room.
He could hear Aisha's frantic heartbeat even from where he lay. He could sense Malik's choking breaths, each one shorter than the last.
And above all else, he heard the timer. Every digital beep cut through the air like a blade. Every number that changed felt like another second being stolen from them.
He clenched his jaw and pushed his head up despite the blood trailing from his temple down to his collar. No, Mason said, his breath heavy yet unwavering.
I promised I would get you both out. He spoke each word with precision, the way someone might carve letters into stone. His voice carried a weight that did not match his broken body.
Aisha looked at him through tears that blurred her vision. When she met his gaze, she saw something she did not expect. It was not fear.
It was steadiness. It was the look of someone who had stood at the edge of death many times and refused to step over it. For a moment, it anchored her, pulling her back from the collapse she felt rising inside.
The timer jumped to two minutes fifty-eight seconds. Mason drew a long breath and pushed against the ground. His shoulders trembled, his arms straining.
The rope around his wrists was soaked in his blood. Fibers dug into his skin like tiny teeth. But he began to twist his wrist, feeling every scrape and pull against his skin.
Aisha, he called to her, steady and firm. Stop looking at the timer. Look at me. Aisha tried.
She really tried, but her eyes kept dragging back to the blinking red numbers at the corner of the room. They flickered like a sinister heartbeat, refusing to let her look away.
She bit her lip hard enough to taste metal, her tears hitting the icy floor. Then, with effort that felt like lifting a stone, she turned her eyes back to Mason.
The timer dropped to two minutes forty-five seconds. Malik let out a fragile whimper. His face had taken on a blue tint from the lack of air.
He leaned toward his sister, his eyes squeezed shut in pain. Aisha lurched forward instinctively, wanting to cover him, hold him, shield him from everything.
But all she managed to do was scrape her knees against the concrete. Malik, hold on! Stay with me! she cried, each word tearing through her mouth like shards of glass.
Mason pushed through the pain as if it were nothing more than background noise. He twisted his wrists again, feeling the skin tear further.
His blood warmed the rope, but the rope did not loosen easily. Pain radiated through his arms, his shoulders, even his chest.
But pain was a companion he had lived with long enough to ignore. The timer moved to two minutes twenty-two seconds.
He tightened his shoulders and twisted his entire body to the left. The rope scraped hard, making a dry, tearing sound that echoed faintly.
Aisha watched him with a mixture of terror and awe. She had never seen anyone force themselves through agony like that with calm carved into their face.
Another twist. Mason's body stretched tight like a bow being drawn to its limit. He leaned hard, pouring every drop of strength into the movement.
His breathing grew harsher, but he did not stop. Then the rope gave a small screech, followed by a faint snap.