Martha’s hand ached
Martha’s hand ached, feeling isolated and desperate for help. Her grip on the glass was slipping, and the creature’s relentless pushing made it harder to hold on.
“George, I can’t keep this up much longer!” she called out, her voice strained. George hovered nearby, looking helpless. “
Just a few more minutes, Martha,” he said, trying to sound calm. She gritted her teeth, her mind racing. “I need real help now, not in a few minutes!”