Then I run to him.

He’s standing in front of me, his eyes wide and expectant, his chest heaving with fretful breaths. I catapult myself right to him, slinging my arms around his neck and touching him for the first time in weeks. Touching anyone. My hands are my own. My body is mine.

I skim my fingers through his hair, tugging gently, reveling in the feel of the soft strands. Dean doesn’t tell me to hurry up and get moving—no, he gives me this moment. He lets me run my palms down his neck, over his shoulder blades, then back up and around to his chest. I plant them there for a few moments, taking in the hurried beats of his heart.

He feels warm and safe and alive.

This is really happening.

I lift my eyes to his, overcome with emotion. A similar sentiment is staring back at me, and it almost stops my breath.

I find my bearings and pull my hands away from Dean’s chest, taking a small step backwards. “I don’t know how to get you out of those,” I tell him.

“I know. I’ll walk you through it. I dropped the pin behind your pole—bring it over here and I’ll tell you what to do.”

I nod, making my way back to my corner of nightmares and sliding the front of my hands over the dusty floor, my eyes casing every inch as I search for the little gold pin. When I spot it, I pick it up, pinching it between my fingers, and I dart back over to Dean to await instruction.

I settle behind him as he returns to a sitting position and take his hands in mine. He starts walking me through the steps, but my mind feels foggy and unfocused, and my hands are trembling, so I keep dropping the clasp. He mentions single locks and double locks and stopping points. Clockwise, counter clockwise, springs and bars.

It’s so much. It’s too much.

“I-I can’t get it, Dean.” I feel myself panicking, the metal shaking in my inept hands. “I suck at this. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, hey. It’s not easy to do. You’re doing great.”

I keep going, cursing under my breath as sweat lines my brow. At least thirty minutes drag by, causing my anxiety to swirl and spin. I fall back onto my butt with a cry of defeat, swiping my damp forehead with the back of my hand. “I can’t do it.”

Dean is silent for a moment as I watch the way his shoulders sag slightly. He must be so disappointed in me.

“It’s okay, Cora. Don’t worry about it,” he tells me, trying to find me over his shoulder. I scoot forward so we can see each other. “Just get out of here and bring back help.”

I gape at him. “And leave you here alone? I-I don’t even know where we are. What if I get lost? What if I can’t find help and he discovers I’ve escaped?” I ramble, out of breath. “He’ll kill you!”