The first few hours were a blur fear, pain, and that awful sack over her head. Bianca couldn’t tell if it was morning or midnight. Time didn't make sense in a place with no light and no sound beyond the occasional creak of metal or the drip of something too far away to see.

She couldn’t breathe right. Her shoulder felt like it had been twisted backward and left there. The scratchy burlap rubbed her skin raw every time she twitched.

Her first try at escape wasn’t exactly subtle. Total panic mode. She kicked, rolled, shoved at the sack like it might somehow just fall apart. All it got her was fresh bruises, and a pain so sharp in her arm she had to bite down hard on her lip to keep from screaming.

When that didn’t work, she forced herself to stop. Breathe. Think. Being freaked out wasn’t going to cut it. She had to get smarter. So, she started poking around inside the sack fingertips tracing every seam, every thread looking for something loose.

And there it was.

Just a thread at first. Tiny. Almost nothing. She worked it with her nails until it gave way. Then she kept pulling, tearing the weave apart inch by inch until there was a hole big enough to see through and maybe even squeeze through.

She pushed her head out and took a breath. Not fresh air, not even close, but it was better than what she had. Her eyes adjusted slow, but the shape of the space around her became clear. Metal walls. No seats. No windows.

She was in the back of some kind of van or truck.

Still trapped.

But not giving up.

Bianca squirmed through the hole and hit the floor with a grunt, her shoulder lighting up with pain again. She swallowed it down. There was no time to waste.

She crawled forward, hand over hand, until her fingers hit something cold metal. A hinge. Maybe a panel. She felt around until she found what she needed: a chunk of something hard and jagged. Maybe a broken piece of a bracket.

She jammed it into the edge and started prying.

The noise it made wasn’t great loud, high, screechy but she didn’t stop. Pain in her hands, blood on her fingers, but after what felt like forever, the panel gave. Just enough for her to get through.

She shoved herself out and into the night.

A narrow alley. Filthy. Quiet. But free.

She ran. Or limped. Or stumbled. It didn’t matter what you called it she moved. No plan, no direction, just away.

The city pressed in around her, tall and unkind. Everything smelled like gasoline, garbage, and mold. Lights flickered. People in masks drifted past, too caught up in their own chaos to notice her. It was still Devil’s Night.

She ducked into a side street. Then another. Found a dark corner to catch her breath.

Her body felt like it was falling apart. Her mind wasn’t far behind. But she was alive.

And she was done waiting for someone to save her.

She got back up. Forced her legs to keep moving until she hit a main road. A taxi slowed when the driver saw her a mess of sweat and blood and desperation.

He didn’t ask questions.

Just drove her straight to the hospital.

There, under too-bright lights and behind too-clean walls, they patched her up. Took photos. Wrote notes. Nobody had answers. Not yet. But Bianca didn’t care