At the other end of the building, near the heavy doors that led outside, Estelle sat in her wheelchair, the air around her feeling thinner with every passing second. Her fingers curled tightly around the armrests.
Noah stood just behind her, steady, watchful. "Are you ready?" he asked softly.
The question seemed to echo.
Estelle drew in a deep breath, the air catching slightly in her lungs. Her grip tightened, knuckles paling, then she gave a small nod.
Noah didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, pushed the door open, and moved behind her again. Cool air brushed against Estelle's skin as the doors parted. The scent of fresh grass and open space rushed in, unfamiliar and sharp after the stillness she'd been trapped in.
As the wheelchair rolled forward, her breath caught. Her eyes moved quickly, taking in the wide driveway, the structure of the building, the unmistakable details.
