The lost triplets

The stale, oppressive air of the basement clung to Alexander like a shroud, a decade of captivity etched into its very fabric. Every creak of the floorboards above, every distant shout, sent a tremor through his already frayed nerves. Beside him, James shifted, a silent testament to their shared unease. Skye, nestled between them, was a small, fragile presence, her shallow breaths a constant reminder of Alexander's unwavering purpose.
He watched the battered metal door, a cold knot tightening in his stomach. The recent incident, the humiliating display of power, the lingering touch on Skye—it replayed in his mind like a broken reel. He should have just said 'thank you.' That one, simple act could have spared her.
"It's going to be okay, isn't it?" James whispered, his voice barely audible, pulling Alexander from his dark thoughts. The question hung in the stagnant air, heavy with unspoken fear.
Alexander wanted to lie, to offer the comfort James craved, but the words caught in his throat. He looked at Skye, her eyes still haunted, her small body still tense. How could he promise safety in a world that had only ever offered pain? He knew one thing for certain: he would never, ever, let her be alone again.
