Martha’s hand ached
Martha’s hand throbbed in pain as she fought to maintain pressure on the glass. The creature’s strength was growing, and it slammed against the barrier with force that made her fingers slip slightly. She could feel her energy draining, her muscles burning with effort. “George, I can’t keep this up much longer!” she cried, her voice raw from the strain and fear.
George lingered nearby, shifting nervously but offering little else. “Just a few more minutes, Martha,” he said, forcing calm into his voice. But the minutes felt like hours, and Martha’s patience wore thin. Her thoughts swirled in a frenzy of panic and pain. “I don’t need comfort—I need help!” she snapped, teeth clenched against the ache crawling up her arm.
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