She was a nurse. She was a fucking nurse. As Sophia sat in the pitch darkness, feeling her heartbeat count down the minutes that she had to live, she almost laughed out loud when she remembered the fact. It was something she had forgotten in her panic, something Graham had probably not even thought about when he took her. He never liked her choice of career path, anyway.

Sophia strained against the ropes, trying to get them as far off of one of her hands as possible. She dragged it pretty far up her hand, but it was just too big. It would never get over the widest part of her hand.

And that's where being a nurse came in. Sophia had helped set hundreds of dislocation joints, from shoulders to hips to thumbs. There was no reason to think that she couldn't do the process in reverse.

Her plan came down to three parts:

1. Dislocate her thumb and get her hands out of the binds

2. Get Graham to unlock the shackles around her ankles, most easily by requesting to go to the bathroom

3. Kill him

Given her time frame, Sophia didn't have the option for anything more complicated. She hoped that, since Graham had said the Feds were closing in on him, they would come bursting in at any moment, saving her the trouble of rescuing herself. But no such luck.

Sophia also had the challenge of timing when Graham would be coming back. He said twelve hours, but it was impossible to keep track of time down here. Sophia didn't even know how long she had been in this godforsaken room. Probably days, at this point.

She wondered what Jamie thought about all of this. She and Travers had probably gotten the same amount of actual sleep Sophia had gotten over the past few days. She hoped she would get to see Jamie again. And that the agent wouldn't get in trouble for Sophia's disappearance. She hadn't done anything wrong.

But no more reminiscing, no time for that. Sophia had to figure out when to go through with dislocating her thumb joint. She had to give herself enough time to go through with it, get out of the bindings, and deal with the pain before Graham came back. She couldn't let on that anything was wrong.

So she had to give herself enough time, but there was also no point in wasting her body's energy on being in pain for too long, so she didn't want to do it too soon.

When Sophia figured she had about an hour before Graham was due to come back, she wiggled her hands around in her bindings, getting them in position so she could put pressure on her joint. Her skin was already rubbed and raw from twisting to get the bindings as far up her hands as possible, so in some ways, Sophia figured that a little more pain wouldn't be that much to deal with.

She pictured the movement in her head before going through with it. Could she potentially permanently damage her finger? Yes. But if it got her out of the ropes, she didn't care. She'd cut off her whole hand if she had to.

She counted down in her head.

Three.

Two.

One.

Sophia bit her lip to keep from crying out, paranoid that Graham might have bugged the room. She felt blood trickle from her mouth, and she quickly swept it up with her tongue. Graham couldn't see it.

Apparently, her training combined with desperation was enough for her to do the move on her first try. Clenching her teeth, she folded her thumb into her palm, praying that it would make her hand small enough to get the rope over.

The process was excruciating, but after ten painful minutes, the rope dropped from her wrist.

She was free.

Sophia quickly wiped the tears from her face onto her shoulder, and gathered the end of the rope back up, wrapping it around her freed wrist.

Part one: complete.

Now, to wait.

Sophia's thumb throbbed as she kept her eyes solidified on the door to the outside, barely able to pick up anything besides a blurry outline. Her ears picked up every sound, every rat and subway car was Graham coming back to take her life away. She waited, and waited, and waited.

Come on, you bastard.

Finally. The locks sounded and Sophia sat up straight, her body trembling in anticipation, her adrenalin surging. This was it. Now or never.

But she couldn't give away how much energy was currently surging through her body, so she kept herself still as Graham flicked on the light and came into view.

"I was waiting for you," she told him.

Hope flooded into his eyes. "You have an answer for me?"

"I'll admit, I don't want to die," Sophia said. She had practiced this speech over and over in her head for hours. "But I also don't want you to have to kill me without knowing that I'm at least somewhat okay with it." She swallowed hard. "Just, it won't hurt too much, will it?" she asked, keeping her voice as meek as possible.

His smile came back. "I'll take good care of you, Sophia. Just as I always do."

"I, um, I want to ask a favor, though. Before we do this."

Graham looked hesitant, but he nodded. "What is it?"

"I really, really need to pee," Sophia said, looking up at him with pleading eyes. "And I don't want the very first thing to happen after I die to be soiling myself, at least not right away."

Graham let out a chuckle. "I think I can stall as long as it will take you to go to the bathroom."

He came over to her and unlocked the handcuffs that held her legs in place.

Part two: complete.

She stood up, not even needing to keep the rope wrapped around her hands. Graham just took her by the arm and led her over to the bucket, not even looking behind her.

He would let go of her when the reached the bucket. That was the time to act.

Sophia's body trembled with adrenalin and she had to work to control her breathing as they got closer and closer to the bucket. She had a second window to catch him by surprise. She couldn't miss it.

They reached the bucket. His fingers uncurled from around her arm.

Sophia whipped her arms around to her front, clasping her hands together. She raised them and swung as hard as she could.

She screamed, whether from the force of the blow or the pain in her hand, she couldn't say.

She had been so fast that Graham hadn't even processed what she was doing until he staggered sideways, almost hitting the ground.

Sophia took advantage of his disorientation and ran at him, slamming her shoulder into his stomach and sending them both toppling to the ground. She got behind him and wrapped the bloodied rope that once bound her hands around his neck, pulling and straining as hard as she could.

His legs kicked and his arms flailed, and if Sophia had to guess, the gargled sounds coming out of his mouth were probably attempts at obscenities. But she held on, tapping into strength she didn't even know she had.

He wanted to kill her. But she wanted to live. She wanted to see Dean. In a moment of desperation, she allowed herself to believe that they could have a life together after this. She wasn't just fighting for herself; she was fighting for the future that Graham was trying so hard to steal away from them.

But she was also weak. Hungry, dehydrated, exhausted. Her mind was ready to shut down. She had no ability to control anything Graham did, only to keep him from getting out of her chokehold.

Sophia screamed when she felt the knife pierce her side, the rope slipping out of her grasp. Graham slithered out of her grip immediately, rolling across the floor and facing her, foam around the mouth and murder in his eyes.

He lunged for her, but despite everything, Sophia managed to get out of his way. She kicked at him, not accomplishing much, but giving her enough time to see where he had the knife.

His right hand wielded it, and in a stroke of desperation, she lunged for it.

Sophia grabbed his wrist and they grappled for the weapon. There were no rules to this fight, no way to cheat. Sophia just wanted to stay alive.

She bit him.

His screams echoed in the small room as her teeth pierced his flesh. She could taste his blood, and he dropped the knife. She let him go and scrambled for it, but he grabbed her legs, dragging her back.

"Fucking bitch," he growled. He got on top of her and wrapped his hands around her neck.

But not for long. A well-placed foot to the balls took care of that.

Gasping for breath, Sophia went back for the knife, gripping its handle just before Graham got his hands on her again.

She twisted around, and with all of her might, plunged the blade into his chest.

His eyes popped and his mouth opened in shock. Wasting no time, Sophia pulled it out and stabbed him again. And again. And again. So many times that she lost count.

When Graham finally fell to the floor, eyes wide open with nothing behind them, Sophia finally realized she was crying. Sobbing. The knife clattered out of her hand and she fell to the ground beside him, feeling her own sticky, soaked shirt.

Part three: complete.

Oh God, she was losing too much blood. Way too much blood.

"Fuck!" she screamed.

Panting and crying, she hoisted herself up, looking around the room for something she could use. She wasn't dying here, not when she was so fucking close.

Blackness pressed in on the edge of her brain as Sophia started to drag herself to a corner of the room that looked like it had a pile of something sitting in it. A yell accompanied each move, but she got there, and more tears ran down her face in relief. It was her old clothes.

She grabbed the first thing she could reach, balled it up, and then rolled over on it so it stemmed the bleeding. And then, she allowed herself to rest.

She sobbed. It wouldn't be enough. She wasn't getting out of here. She would never see Dean again, never see her friends again. She was going to die in some dingy underground hole.

Her eyes flickered closed. At least he was dead.

Shouts forced her to open her eyes once more, only managing halfway. The shouts grew louder, and Sophia's eyes drooped more.

A large bang.

The last thing Sophia remembered seeing was Dean leaning over her, running his hand over her hair. "Stay alive, Sophia," he said. "Stay. Alive."