[Evelyn’s POV]

Days blur together in this concrete hell. I've lost track of time completely, twenty days? Thirty? Darkness has become my constant companion since Rose started turning off the lights when she leaves. Just me, this chain around my ankle, and the red eyes of cameras watching from every corner.

I trace my fingers over the raw wounds on my arms, wincing as fresh pain shoots through me. Rose's latest artwork. She comes down here with that serene smile and carves into me like I'm her personal canvas. Sometimes it's quick jabs with whatever's handy, scissors, screwdrivers, kitchen knives. Other times, she takes her time, making precise cuts that she carefully bandages afterward. Keeping her pet alive for more torment.

The stumps where my fingers used to be throb constantly. I still try to use them sometimes, reaching for the water bottle only to feel that sickening moment of realization when nothing connects with the plastic.

I curl into myself on the thin mattress she's now "generously" provided. The darkness is so complete I can't tell if my eyes are open or closed anymore. Sometimes I talk to myself just to remember what a human voice sounds like. My own sounds increasingly foreign to me, hoarse, broken, nothing like the confident woman who once managed the Miller household.

The Millers. Seth. Chris. Do they even miss me? Or has Rose already replaced me in their lives? The thought makes me sick.

A loud bang jolts me from what must have been sleep, though I hadn't realized I'd drifted off. My heart hammers against my ribs as I blink rapidly, disoriented by the sudden flood of light burning my retinas.

"What...?" I mumble, shielding my eyes with my mutilated hand.

This is different. Rose always announces herself, always taunts me before beginning her "sessions." And there's no food tray. She never turns on the lights without bringing food, it's part of her routine.

I squint through the harsh light, trying to make sense of what's happening. Something's different. The cameras that have been watching my every move, they're gone.

"Huh?" I mutter, my voice barely recognizable even to myself.

I push myself forward, the movement sending fresh waves of pain through my mutilated hands. That's when I notice it, the chain around my ankle is gone. Released. My heart slams against my ribs as I reach down with trembling fingers to confirm what seems impossible.

Fear and confusion flood through me. Is this another of Rose's sick games? A new form of torture where she gives me hope only to snatch it away?

I struggle to stand, my legs weak from weeks of disuse. The concrete wall becomes my lifeline as I press against it, forcing my muscles to remember how to work. Each inch upward feels like climbing a mountain.

Once upright, I see it, a chef's knife embedded in the wall across from me. A piece of paper dangles from it, fluttering slightly in some draft I can't feel. I stumble forward.

The note is written in hasty, unfamiliar handwriting. "Now's your chance."

My mind feels like it's fractured like glass. The torture, the pain, the darkness, they've all broken something fundamental inside me. But through the cracks, one thought remains crystal clear, Seth and Chris. They're in danger. They've always been in danger.

"Seth," I whisper, the name a talisman against the madness threatening to consume me. "Chris."

I lurch toward the knife, my movements jerky and uncoordinated. My fingers, what's left of them, close around the handle. It takes three attempts before I can wrench it free from the wall, nearly falling backward when it finally gives.

The weapon feels impossibly heavy in my left hand, my only hand with a remaining thumb. The cool metal against my palm anchors me to reality as my thoughts spin wildly. If Rose did this to me, what might she do to them? To innocent little Chris? To Seth, whom she claims to love?

I need to save them.

The stairs loom before me like a mountain. Each step sends agony through my broken body, but I force myself upward, dragging my ankle behind me. The metal scrapes against the wood, marking my slow progress with a rhythmic scraping sound.

At the top, I pause, gasping for breath. The house is quiet. Empty. No sign of Rose or whoever left the knife. Sunlight streams through windows with no curtains, illuminating a space that's barely furnished, just a couch, a table, some boxes. A safe house. A torture chamber disguised as a normal home.

I stumble through the front door, blinking against the harsh daylight that burns my eyes after weeks in darkness. The fresh air hits my lungs like a physical blow, making me dizzy.

When my vision clears, I stare in disbelief at the neighborhood around me. Familiar houses. Familiar streets.

"Are you kidding me?" I croak.

I'm four houses down from the Harris residence. She kept me here, in plain sight.

"Rose," I drool out her name, saliva mixing with blood from my cracked lips.

My ankle drags behind me like an anchor as I begin my slow journey down the sidewalk. Each step is agony, but I force myself forward, propelled by a mixture of hatred and desperate need to protect the only family that ever mattered to me.

The knife clutched in my mangled hand feels like justice. Like salvation. Like the only solution left in a world that's failed me completely.

The Harris residence looms before me, a predator's den disguised as a suburban dream. Each step up their manicured walkway feels like walking through quicksand, my damaged body screaming in protest. But I push forward, driven by something beyond pain, beyond reason.

I reach their door and stab my finger against the doorbell, pressing it over and over in desperate succession. The knife trembles in my left hand, slick with my own sweat and blood.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," a voice mutters from inside, each word dripping with annoyance.

The door swings open. Rose stands there, her perfect auburn hair framing her face like a halo from hell. Her eyes widen when she sees me, genuine shock replacing her usual calculated mask.

"You're supposed to be dead," she whispers, the words barely audible.

Something snaps inside me. All the pain, all the darkness, all the hours spent chained in that basement crystallize into pure, white-hot rage. My body moves before my mind can catch up.

I lunge forward, driving the knife deep into her chest. The resistance of flesh and bone travels up my arm as the blade sinks in. Rose stumbles backward.

A scream erupts from somewhere to my left. I don't turn to look. Nothing matters except finishing what I started. I fall forward with Rose, landing on top of her as she hits the floor.

I pull the knife out and plunge it in again. And again. And again. Each thrust is for a finger she took. For every cut she made. For every second she kept me in darkness.

"This is for Seth," I hiss, driving the blade deeper. "This is for Chris."

Blood sprays across my face, warm and metallic. I barely notice. Everything narrows to this moment, to this act of retribution.

Then pain explodes between my shoulder blades, fiery and shocking. A knife in my back. I throw my head back and scream as it’s pulled out, the sound barely human. But even this agony is nothing compared to the satisfaction of watching Rose's eyes go glassy beneath me.

"Justice," I gasp as my strength fails me. My body topples sideways, the knife still clutched in my ruined hand.

As I lie there, the world tilting sideways, I see Seth enter the room. His face is contorted in horror, hands pressed against his mouth as he screams something I can't hear through the ringing in my ears.

And there, standing over me with a bloody knife, is Lilly. Her face is a perfect mirror of her twin's, same bone structure, same colored hair despite the different style. But it's her eyes that catch me, that hold me as consciousness begins to slip away.

Those eyes. Green, cold, and calculating. The exact same eyes that Rose had when she tortured me.

Seth rushes toward us, his face a blur of panic and disbelief. He falls to his knees beside Rose, hands frantically pressing against the wounds I've inflicted, trying desperately to stop the crimson tide flowing between his fingers.

"No, no, no!" he screams, his voice cracking. "Rose! Stay with me!"

Blood soaks through his shirt as he leans over her, applying pressure to the deepest gash. It's useless. I know it is. I made sure of it.

My vision swims as I feel my own life draining away through the wound in my back.

Seth's attention is completely focused on Rose, tears streaming down his face as he begs her to stay alive. He doesn't even look at me, the woman who raised him, who loved him first. The one who saved him. My heart breaks even as it fails.

"Call an ambulance!" Seth shouts to Lilly, his hands slick with Rose's blood. "Please, hurry!"

I try to speak, to tell him everything, about the basement, the torture, the fingers she took from me, but my mouth fills with something warm and metallic. I cough, feeling it spill over my lips.

With the last of my strength, I reach toward Seth. Our eyes meet for just a moment. I need him to understand. I need him to know.

"I love you," I mouth, my voice lost somewhere in the blood filling my throat.

Confusion flickers across his face, quickly replaced by horror as he realizes I'm dying too. For a split second, I see the boy I helped raise, the child who once held my hand crossing the street, the teenager who confided his dreams to me.

My vision narrows to a pinpoint of light. Seth's face fades, and with it, all the pain that's defined my existence these past weeks. The cold floor beneath me seems to dissolve as I fall into nothingness.

Evelyn: