“No,” I said, my voice growing stronger. “You did what made you feel in control.”

He didn’t answer, his eyes dropping to the floor.

The silence returned, heavier than before.

Suddenly, a sharp beam of light cut through the grimy windowpane.

It swept across the wooden wall, bright and blinding, before disappearing into the dark.

Adrian froze, his eyes widening.

He reached slowly for the gun at his waist.

The sound of a car engine idling outside drifted through the thin walls.

Adrian pressed his back against the rough pine wall.

His hand gripped the butt of his heavy black pistol.

“Get behind the chimney,” he whispered.

I didn’t move.

My hand stayed flat against my stomach, feeling the slow, rhythmic pulse of our unborn child.

The headlights washed over the ceiling, casting long, skeletal shadows of the bare rafters above us.

The engine outside rumbled, a deep, mechanical growl that vibrated through the floorboards.

Adrian took a step toward the window, his boots making no sound on the wood.

He peeled back the corner of a yellowed sheet he had nailed up as a curtain.