Fuck my life.
All that work and nothing to show for it.
Mila continued to stare at the smooth surface where a keyhole should have been. The lock was entirely external. Why didn't she see that in the hours she'd been sitting on the bed, staring at the door?
Oh, that was right. Because the mind could trick you into thinking things were exactly how you expected them to be.
And now she had a useless key.
Except—keys were never useless. You only had to figure out where they belonged.
The concussion throbbed at the base of her skull, a dull insistent pressure that made the edges of her vision blur for half a second. She closed her eyes for just a moment, willing the pain away. Pain was just information from nerves to your brain. And right now, it wasn't telling her anything she didn't already know.
