Ch.44: The Loose Strap

I test the strap again.

I keep my movements microscopic. A twitch of the wrist. A flex of the fingers.

The leather is loose. Not broken, but loose. The pin of the buckle is barely seated in the hole.

Greta did this.

When she cut me loose in the lab, she didn't just free me for the moment. She damaged the leather. She stretched the holes.

And the new nurse, in her panic, didn't notice. She just slapped the cuff back on and tightened it.

But leather has memory. And this strap remembers being cut.

Aris is distracted. He is arguing with the nurse about the oxygen levels. Petrova is inspecting her nails, bored by the delay.

I pull.

It hurts. The leather digs into my skin, scraping the already raw flesh. But I feel the pin slipping.

*Click.*

It slides to the next hole. Looser.

I pull again. Harder this time.

The pin pops out.

The cuff falls open.

My right hand is free.

I don't move it yet. I keep it resting on the table, mimicking the paralysis.

The gun is on the floor. Five feet away. Under the tray.

I can't reach it. Not from here.

But the tray... the tray is right next to my hand.

And on the tray is a syringe.

Not the paralytic. That’s gone.

This one has a purple label. **EPINEPHRINE.**

Adrenaline. Pure, concentrated fight-or-flight.

It’s meant for cardiac arrest. To restart a stopped heart.

If I inject that into myself... it will override the sedatives. It will flood my system with enough energy to tear this room apart.

But it might also kill me. My heart is already racing. A direct hit of epi could cause an explosion in my chest.

I don't care.

I’d rather die of a heart attack than be carved up by my husband.

I slide my hand across the sheet. Slowly. Inch by inch.

Aris turns back to me.

"Oxygen is stable," he announces. "Let's begin."

He picks up the saw again.

He looks at my arm.

He frowns.

"Nurse," he snaps. "The restraint is loose."

The nurse rushes over.

"I'm sorry, Doctor, I thought I—"

She reaches for my wrist.

I move.

I grab the syringe. I rip the cap off with my teeth.

Aris sees me. His eyes go wide.

"Restrain her!" he screams.

He lunges with the saw.

The nurse grabs my arm.

I twist. I jam the needle into my thigh. Right through the hospital gown.

I depress the plunger.

All of it.

Fire.

Liquid fire shoots through my veins. My heart hammers against my ribs like a trapped bird. My vision goes white.

The paralytic vanishes. The weakness vanishes.

I scream.

It isn't a human sound. It’s a roar of pure chemical rage.

I rip my arm free from the nurse's grip. I backhand her. She flies across the room, crashing into the instrument cart.

Scalpels and clamps rain down.

Aris swings the saw. The blade whines.

I roll off the table. I hit the floor.

I scramble for the gun.

Kael’s gun.

My fingers close around the grip. It feels heavy, solid. Real.

"She has a gun!" one of Petrova's guards shouts.

He draws his weapon.

I roll onto my back. I aim.

I don't aim at the guard. I don't aim at Aris.

I aim at the one thing that matters more than anything in this room.

The oxygen tanks. The main supply line on the wall.

*BANG.*

The bullet hits the valve.

*HISSSSSSS.*

High-pressure oxygen screams into the room.

"No!" Aris yells. "No sparks!"

But he's still holding the bone saw.

And the motor is running.

I smile.

My right arm is free.