Alice thought she was going to die. Her body was cold and ached, her unborn child longed for the sweet release of life but held on.
Flynn lay rested in between her arms and she stroked his hair, praying to the Gods that they'd both get out alive.
How long had they been down there? Hours? Days?
Years….
Six years.
Suddenly it hit her and slowly but surely she understood.
This was what Emily had to go through. So that meant that there was — no way — she could be their captor. Right?
Alice saw the trauma on Emily's face. She saw the way her features lit up seeing Flynn for the first time in six years, she saw the broken pieces of her scattered about and it pitied her to watch Emily try to pick them up and pretend that she was fine.
She was wrong.
God, oh god she was so damn wrong.
A part of her wanted to have been right. A part of her wanted Emily to have been their current captor so when she escaped, she could walk up to Nick and laugh in his face about how "right" she was.
She wanted to prove to Nick that he should trust her.
And only her.
But that part of her was nonexistent now. Instead, Alice understood.
Alice understood everything.
Emily was right.