The Storm Doesn't Need Permission

A deep rumble rolled through the sky, shaking the wooden walls of the house. Lily could feel it in her chest, like the earth itself was growling, warning her of what was to come. 

Wind screamed through the gaps in the boards, sending dust swirling through the air. The house creaked, its old bones protesting against the coming storm, against the things lurking within its walls.

She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe too fast. Lily sat motionless, the rough rope biting into her wrists, her breathing controlled and measured. The air inside the house was stale, thick with the scent of unwashed bodies and damp wood. A distant crack of thunder rolled over the land, low and deep, like the growl of some unseen beast waking from its slumber.

Lily knew better than to let fear control her. Fear was a luxury—one she hadn’t been able to afford for a long time.

The whispers had come with the wind, curling through the slats, slipping through the darkness like ghosts. But she knew better. It wasn’t the house whispering. It wasn’t the dead. Not a hallucination. Not Marcus.

It was Hep.

“I won’t leave you,” he had promised, his voice a rough whisper in the dark.

She wanted to believe him. But belief was dangerous. Lily reminded herself, again and again, that this wasn’t about kindness. And she'd learned a long time ago that trust was a luxury she couldn’t afford. She had let Hep stay because it made sense—because in this world, survival was never about doing the right thing. It was about doing whatever it took to make it through another day. 

If Hep was out there, looking for a way to get her out of this, then maybe she had been right to let him in. He was good at slipping through the cracks, good at making himself unseen. He knew how to stay hidden, how to move silently. He had to be smart enough to plan. There's no way she could've known this when she'd invited him to come back into the old home, but she had to have a little faith, even if she didn't have any trust.

A gust of wind found its way through the cracks in the wooden walls, curling around her like unseen fingers, sending a shiver down her spine. The house creaked, an old, tired sound, nearly drowned out by the rain that had begun to pelt against the roof in uneven bursts. Her captors didn’t seem to notice the way the storm mirrored the tension in the room. They were too focused on their search.

Lightning slashed across the sky, illuminating the room in a brief, violent flash. In that instant, she saw movement outside—Hep’s shape ducking behind the remnants of a fence. His eyes locked onto hers for a fraction of a second before the night swallowed him whole again.

Lily kept her body limp, her breath measured. She was still tied to the chair, the ropes biting into her wrists, her fingers tingling from lack of circulation.

She could hear them. The intruders.

They were still tearing through the place, ransacking the kitchen. Drawers scraped open, their contents dumped unceremoniously onto the floor. Papers rustled. Wood splintered.

Lightning flashed, casting sharp white light through the boarded-up windows. 

Three men.

One by the table, sifting through pages like they held some great secret. Another pacing near the doorway, his fingers twitching at his knife as if he was waiting for an excuse to use it. The last one crouched at the drawers, yanking them open, cursing under his breath.

Thunder cracked, closer this time, shaking the house. The rain intensified, hammering the roof in a furious tempo. The storm didn’t ask permission to break the silence, and neither would she. When the moment came, she would strike. She just had to wait for Hep to find his way back in.

Lily forced her muscles to stay slack, but inside, her mind was working.

Three in the room. At least one more in the back somewhere, judging by the noise coming from the other rooms.

Hep had been smart enough to slip out. He was smart enough to watch, to plan.

She had to trust that.

No.

Not trust.

She had to count on it.

Trust was for people who had something to lose.

She cracked her eyes open just slightly, just enough to see through unfocused eyelashes. The room flickered with each bolt of lightning, showing her pieces of her captors like puzzle fragments she had to assemble.

Their clothes were ragged, dirt-streaked. The kind of filth that wasn’t just from the road, but from time—long, hard time spent surviving out in the wreckage of the world.

These men weren’t new to this.

The one at the table grunted, shoving papers aside. “Nothing,” he muttered. “It’s gotta be here somewhere.”

The pacing man let out a sharp breath, his impatience radiating off him like heat. “She awake yet?”

Lily kept still.

A pause. Then footsteps approached. Slow, deliberate.

She felt a presence looming over her, felt the warmth of a body close. Her skin crawled, but she didn’t flinch.  

A finger brushed against her cheek.

Lily clenched her jaw.

“Still out,” the man murmured as he turned away, his body a hulking presence that would otherwise have blocked the entire view from her barely open eyes.

Another flash of lightning, and this time, she saw him.

The scarred man.

The left side of his face was a ruin of burned flesh, twisted and gnarled, like wax that had melted and hardened again in uneven ridges. His right side was mostly untouched, save for a deep-set scowl.

His clothes were as ruined as his face—torn, greasy, the kind of filth that had soaked in deep, that no amount of washing would ever fix.

Lily memorized every detail. If she got out of this, she would remember him. The storm outside raged, howling like a wounded animal. And inside, Lily lay still, waiting.

What the hell were they looking for?

She swallowed the dry burn in her throat.

It didn’t matter.

What mattered was that Hep was out there. And if he was smart enough, fast enough, desperate enough—

He might just be her way out of this.

And if all it had cost her was a cup of weak tea and a thin blanket?

That was a damn bargain.

(part 4 of a series)