In the middle of the tiled floor is a thick, black pillow in the shape of a square. It could be a dog’s bed or one of those outdoor beanbags. Inside, I burn. They haven’t left that on the floor for my comfort, and I refuse to curl up like a dog.

Spurred on by a surge of adrenaline, I stomp forward and kick the pillow. It flies across the floor and hits the wall. I can imagine Caleb chuckling at that, but I don’t care about his reaction.

Folding my arms, I look up at the camera in the corner, challenging them, although I know it’s foolish. They don’t need encouraging; they’re going to do this with or without my cooperation.

The door behind me clangs loudly, locking me inside the small white cell with all the speakers.

This is it.

I sit in the middle of the floor, where the pillow used to be, and cross my legs. My pulse drums and my palms sweat, but I keep my face straight, absolutely determined not to show any fear. Which is super-hard to do when all you feel is fear.

Closing my eyes, I place myself anywhere but here. I go back seven years when my parents took me and Penny on our first vacation. It was to a crappy hotel on the coast because we couldn’t afford to do much. We did get to spend days on the beach, go on rides at the fair, and eat ice cream for breakfast. We had the time of our lives.

It was the only week in my childhood that I didn’t feel as if I was missing out. It didn’t bother me that other kids had yearly vacations because I’d had one, too. We didn’t manage to get away after that because the house needed repairs, and Mom lost her job and needed to find another one, but I’ll always have that week.

My body leaps, heart stalling as a piercing foghorn sound penetrates the room. I curl my back, pressing my head into my hands. The noise is gone as quickly as it started.

Okay, take it one sound at a time.

I raise my eyes and look up as if I’ll be able to see when the noise is coming. There is nothing in this room but me, a lot of speakers, and what is possibly a dog bed. What am I looking for?

Dropping my hands from my ears, I place my palms on the floor. Whenever I can, I need to show them that I’m still fighting.

I am stronger than they think.

The next sound that rattles through the room is so high-pitched, I fall to the floor and curl in a ball with my palms over my ears and my head tucked low. The sound slices through my eardrums, making me scream in red-hot pain.