NO TIME LEFT

THE ECHOES FROM THE PAST

Kaia never thought she'd find herself back in that place again—not physically, but emotionally, mentally, in the twisted, nightmarish loop of helplessness. It was the same sick feeling. The same overwhelming panic. The same disbelief.

She had been fourteen.

It was a rainy afternoon, and her parents had friends over for a small gathering. One of them—her father’s longtime business associate, a man named Ronan—had asked Kaia to help him fetch a book from the study. She had hesitated, but her father nodded encouragingly. "He just needs help finding something," he said.

The study was at the far end of the house, quiet, too quiet. When Kaia stepped in and began scanning the shelves, Ronan closed the door behind him. She turned, confused. He smiled.

That smile still haunted her.

"You're growing up so beautifully, Kaia," he'd said, stepping too close.

When she tried to move back, he cornered her. His hand brushed against her waist, and when she tried to yell, his palm slapped over her mouth.

Kaia could still remember the taste of his skin as she bit down hard. He howled, but she didn’t stop. She bit until her jaw hurt, and she screamed—a bloodcurdling scream that shook the walls. Her parents came rushing in. Chaos followed.

He was arrested, charged, and eventually imprisoned, but the trauma lingered. Therapy became her new normal for the next two years. Nightmares were frequent visitors. Her father blamed himself, her mother hovered like a protective bird.

She survived it.

She swore she’d never be powerless again.

But now, in this lawless place, history was threatening to repeat itself.

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Kaia’s breathing was shallow, a tremor rippling through her limbs as the man loomed closer. His eyes, dark with cruelty, scanned her like she was prey. The storeroom felt smaller than it was, suffocating with the thick stench of stale grains, damp sacks, and something darker—fear.

"You've only got four hours left," he muttered, his voice twisted with mockery, as if her dwindling time somehow validated the horror he was about to unleash. "I'm doing you a favor. A girl like you shouldn't die untouched."

Kaia backed away, heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. Her hands clutched the shelf behind her as he stepped closer, his smile curving like a sickle. The flickering light bulb overhead cast shadows across his face, deepening the wicked contours.

The flashbacks surged like lightning. Ronan. The study. The panic. The scream. The shame. The therapy. The long years it took to believe she was safe again.

"Stay away from me," she warned, her voice breaking, raw with fear.

But he only laughed.

He reached out, grabbing her wrist, forcing her closer. She twisted, tried to yank her arm back, but he was stronger. His other hand reached for her waistband, and Kaia’s scream echoed off the stone walls, wild and desperate.

In the frenzy, her hand fumbled over the shelf and closed around a jagged tin lid. With a scream, she slashed blindly. He reeled back with a grunt, blood seeping from a gash along his cheek.

"You bitch!"

Rage flashed in his eyes. He lunged at her, slamming her into the shelves. Cans crashed to the ground. Her back ached from the impact, and pain exploded across her shoulder, but adrenaline surged. Kaia struggled, kicking, clawing. He pinned her down, wrestling the sharp object from her hand, and hurled it across the room.

She thrashed beneath him, gasping for breath as he pressed her down. "You think you’re still worth something? With four hours left, you’re practically dead."

Tears blurred Kaia’s vision, but she didn’t stop fighting. Her elbow connected with his ribs, earning a hiss of pain. She wriggled out from under him for a second—just long enough to grab a broken broom handle nearby.

He lunged again. She raised the handle, jabbing it at his face. He dodged, grabbed it, and wrestled it from her. The jagged edge sliced her palm. She cried out, clutching her bleeding hand, but refused to stop moving.

The struggle dragged on like a brutal dance—two bodies tangled in fear and fury. She grabbed anything within reach—sacks, cans, shards. He dodged most, but a lucky swing struck his temple, dazing him. She dove for the sharp tin lid again.

He grabbed her ankle, pulling her back, but this time she twisted around and stabbed.

He gasped, his eyes widening as the lid sank into his side. Blood gushed, hot and slick. He staggered back, staring at her in disbelief.

Kaia stood, panting, her hands shaking, blood dripping from both of them. Her side throbbed from where he had kicked her. One of her legs buckled under her weight, and her head swam with dizziness and pain.

The man stumbled, gurgled, and collapsed to the ground.

Silence.

Only Kaia’s heavy breaths filled the room now. The tin lid clattered from her fingers. Her whole body trembled, knees giving way as she sank to the ground, staring at his still form.

Her timer beeped.

She looked at her wrist: 4 hours, now 7 years,8 hours,7 minutes,50 seconds ticking down every second.

Kaia froze.

Her eyes remained fixed on the man’s corpse. Time. She had taken his time.

Her mouth opened in a silent sob. Her body ached, her side stung, blood staining her clothes. But all she could think about was that number. She had more time. She had lived. But how?

Had she really only fought to survive? Or had there been a split second—just one flash of thought—when she’d seen the time on his wrist and wanted it?

Was she becoming like them?was the place beginning to change her?

The thought tore through her chest worse than any wound. She crawled away from his body, curling into herself in the corner. Blood, sweat, fear, and doubt wrapped around her like a shroud.

She was alive. But at what cost?

She didn’t know anymore.