This summer, Mom, Rachel, and I were abducted by a drug lord and we had one hour to get out of the Escape Room. The first room was covered in vintage movie posters and warm colors: red, yellow, and orange. The second room was cold with gray walls and green, silky marihuana leaves in the ceiling. Shouting. Screaming. The words bounced through the walls. Rachel orders, in a tone too bossy for the youngest person in the room. Mom was calm. The loads of clues, test tubes, words and numbers made my head spin. The air was heavy. I was sweaty and sticky. I swiftly moved through the two rooms, looking for a way to be helpful. And I found it: there was a third room. The scariest one. It had a toilet covered in blood, a board full of pictures, and a safe. However, it was the room that will take us to freedom. Hopefully.