Annie’s shoulders stiffen, because the meaning behind his words is clear: if she follows the instructions he’ll be released. Even if it means submerging her hand in acid.

It’s a horrifying thing to consider, even though, quite frankly, the decision’s already been made in her head. She’s not going to let him get torn apart, not if there’s a way to prevent it. And even if it means she’ll be badly hurt in the process.

And, if she’s being honest with herself, all these hooks look secure. Digging one out of him — assuming she even finds a way to — will likely only cause more damage. The realization has her stopping in her search as she nods.

Annie doesn’t tell him what he’s going to do. She doesn’t want him to protest (though given his predicament it’s not like he could really stop her anyway) and, in the event that he doesn’t protest, she doesn’t want to know that either. Instead, she abandons looking over his restraints, moving to the bowl and reaching in without hesitating. If she thinks about it too hard or too long she’s worried she’ll lose her nerve.

Almost immediately, she sees the acid froth up and bubble and is vaguely aware that she’s started screaming, the absolute agony of her flesh being eaten away blinding her. It’s almost impossible to make her fingers curl around the key and her progress is slowed when she drops it twice before managing to fish it out.

Yanking her hand back, she sinks to her knees, the key slipping through her fingers and hitting the floor, what’s left of her skin red and raw and blistered.