Straining against the ropes, Amelia's eyes burned into Damien's. His hand, shaking slightly, hovered over the console. He was about to surrender everything. He was about to condemn the world. Panic churned in her gut, a cold, bitter wave. She had to stop him. She had to make him understand that her life was a small price compared to global catastrophe. Her muffled cries were useless. He hesitated, his hand inching closer. Vance watched, a predatory gleam in his eyes, oblivious to the silent scream in Amelia’s gaze. Slowly, she scanned her surroundings. A metal table, stark and cold. A discarded piece of equipment, sharp and jagged, lay perilously close to her bound wrists. A desperate, reckless idea formed. Ignoring the agony already radiating from her cramped limbs, she twisted. Her body contorted, scraping against the rough floor. She needed to reach that sharp edge. Her wrists rubbed raw against the coarse bindings. A whimper escaped the gag. Her muscles screamed, but a primal urge to survive, to protect, drove her on. Vance’s cruel smile faltered. His attention, momentarily diverted from Damien, flickered to Amelia. “Keep still, little bird. You’ll only hurt yourself.” Damien’s gaze snapped to her, his brow furrowed with concern. He saw the desperation, the frantic, almost violent struggle. He saw the glint of metal. She lunged. A sudden, violent jerk of her torso sent the small, broken piece of tech clattering to the floor with a loud clang. The sound echoed in the tense silence, sharp and startling. Vance barked orders. “What was that? Secure her!” Guards, who had been focused on Damien, moved towards her. This was her chance. Her only chance. With a surge of adrenaline, Amelia thrashed. She brought her bound wrists down hard onto the edge of the metal table, ignoring the searing pain as the tight ropes began to fray against the sharp corner. A small trickle of blood appeared. “She’s bleeding!” a guard exclaimed, taking a hesitant step back. Vance snarled. “I said secure her, not gawp!” Just as a guard reached for her, Amelia twisted, using the momentary distraction. The ropes around her wrists, weakened by her desperate sawing against the table, finally snapped. Her hands were free. Rip-ping the gag from her mouth, she gasped for air. “Damien, don’t! Don’t give it to him!” Her voice, hoarse but clear, cut through the room. Vance roared,

Chapter 42: Escape from the Lair