Iyisha forced her breathing to slow.
This was not the time. Not the place.
Her body still shook, shock clinging to muscle and bone, but she pushed it down anyway, locking it behind will and necessity. Panic could come later. Right now, there were still people trapped and doors not yet opened.
Malcolm moved first.
He crossed the room without a word and stopped in front of the crates, eyes scanning quickly, assessing, confirming what he already knew. No guards. No movement except fear and disbelief.
Iyisha turned away.
She went to the table where her clothes had been stacked and pulled them on with hands that trembled but obeyed. Fabric slid over skin that still felt wrong, too sensitive, every touch echoing too loud in her nerves.
She did not bother fixing it properly. Buttons misaligned. Hem uneven. None of that mattered. Covered mattered.
Behind her, metal rattled.
