Micah didn’t bother to respond to that, too busy trying to bite back pained whimpers. The sound of Ren’s boots echoed as he crossed the room, and then the door clicked shut.

Time moved strangely after that.

Micah tried to wiggle his hands out of the rope, but one arm was completely useless, and whenever he so much as bumped it with the other one, a jolt of pain shot up the limb, all the way to where his misshapen lump of a shoulder sat.

That didn’t stop him from trying to yank his good hand free from the rope, but when he felt a trickle of blood start dripping down his wrist, he knew he needed to quit.

Resting his cheek against the cold floor of the basement, Micah forced himself to push away the pain and think. He glanced around the room as much as his awkward position on the ground allowed, figuring maybe he’d missed something useful – like a piece of furniture or piece of stray debris that could be converted into a makeshift weapon.

The metal cross on the wall looked like it had sharp edges, but, of course, Micah had no way to get to it. Or wield it, for that matter.

Inevitably, his gaze was drawn back to the pile of clothes sitting on the desk – his watch and its hidden panic button. If only Micah could access it somehow.

Even if you do get your hands on that watch, there’s no guarantee Damon will come for you.

Micah ignored the cynical voice in his head, having more important things to do than entertain such negative thoughts – like figure out how to escape. But his mind kept returning to that damn watch. It was perched awfully precariously on top of his sweatshirt. Maybe if Micah could somehow jostle the desk hard enough, it would fall to the floor.

It was better than any other plan he’d thought of so far, so mentally bracing himself for the pain he knew was about to encompass his arm, Micah attempted to shimmy in the direction of the desk.

Turns out, he’d vastly overestimated his pain tolerance because Micah nearly blacked out at the white-hot agony that shot up his arm. He cried out, immediately trying to muffle the sound by tucking his head into his good shoulder.

After taking a minute to recover, he continued on with the plan.

It had to have taken at least an hour, and his vision was fuzzy from pain, but eventually, Micah managed to wriggle his way over to the desk.

Now how to shake it?

Realizing quickly he didn’t have much choice, Micah took a deep breath before walloping his head against one of the desk’s wooden legs.

Thwack.