Abbie woke with a dull ache behind her eyes. For a few moments, she simply stared at the ceiling, trying to understand where she was. The room was cold, unnaturally cold, and the metal chair beneath her only made it worse. Her wrists weren't restrained, yet the gray walls surrounding her felt more imprisoning than chains. There were no windows, no clock, and no indication of how much time had passed since she had last been conscious.
Her first thought was Adrian.
The realization struck her so quickly that it almost hurt. Was he alive? Had he escaped? Or had they captured him too? The uncertainty settled heavily in her chest.
The sound of a door opening pulled her from her thoughts. A man in a dark suit entered carrying a thin file. He wasn't visibly armed, but there was something about the calm way he carried himself that immediately put her on edge. He sat across from her, opened the file, and glanced through a few pages before finally looking up.
"Abigail Lawson," he said.
Abbie remained silent.
"You are twenty-one years old, currently enrolled in university, and have no criminal record."
Still she said nothing.
The man closed the file and folded his hands together.
"And yet somehow, you've become important."
Abbie leaned back in her chair and met his gaze. "If you're going to threaten me, just do it."
A faint smile touched the corner of his lips.
"I'm not here to threaten you. I'm here to understand you."
"Then you're wasting your time."
The interrogator studied her for a moment before asking the question she had expected from the beginning.
"How long have you known Adrian?"
At the mention of his name, her stomach tightened. Every instinct told her to say nothing. Whatever these people wanted, it had everything to do with him.
"I'm not answering that."
"You care about him."
Abbie looked away before she could stop herself. The reaction was small, but she knew he noticed. People like him were trained to notice things like that.
"You don't have to tell us where he is," he continued. "We already know he doesn't trust us. What interests me is why he trusts you."
The question lingered in the room. Abbie didn't have an answer. Maybe it was because she listened. Maybe it was because she never looked at Adrian like he was broken. Maybe she simply saw something in him that everyone else missed.
Without another word, the man slid a photograph across the table. Abbie looked down and immediately felt her breath catch in her throat.
It was Adrian.
The picture looked recent. He was bruised, exhausted, and very much alone.
Relief washed through her first.
Then fear followed.
Because if they had this photograph, it meant they were still watching him.
The interrogator reached into the file again and produced a tablet. He placed it on the table and turned the screen toward her.
A video began to play.
Abbie's pulse quickened.
It was Adrian again.
This time he was running.
The footage appeared to have been captured from a distant surveillance camera. Adrian pushed through a crowd, glancing repeatedly over his shoulder. His movements were sharp, restless, the movements of someone who knew he was being hunted.
"Stop," Abbie said immediately.
The interrogator ignored her.
The video continued.
Adrian disappeared into an alley. Seconds later, two black vehicles turned the corner after him.
Abbie clenched her fists.
"What do you want from him?"
The interrogator leaned back in his chair.
"That's the wrong question."
Silence settled between them.
"The correct question is what makes him different."
Abbie looked at him but said nothing.
The man folded his hands.
"Most people choose survival when placed under pressure. Adrian chooses people."
A pause.
"That makes him unpredictable."
"And that makes you afraid of him?" she asked.
For the first time, the interrogator's expression shifted.
Not fear.
Concern.
"Quite the opposite."
That answer disturbed her more than she expected.
The screen went dark.
The room fell silent.
Then the interrogator stood.
"I think that's enough for now."
Before Abbie could respond, the door opened and two guards entered. They escorted her through a maze of gray corridors that all looked the same. The deeper they went, the quieter the building became.
Eventually they stopped in front of another room.
This one was smaller.
Colder.
The walls were bare metal.
The door shut behind her with a heavy clang.
Abbie immediately rushed toward it.
Locked.
Of course.
She stepped back and looked around.
A bed.
A sink.
A ceiling light.
Nothing else.
At least, that was what she thought.
Then she noticed the camera.
A single black lens mounted high in the corner.
Watching.
Always watching.
Hours passed.
Or maybe days.
She couldn't tell.
The lights never dimmed.
Sleep came in fragments.
Every time she closed her eyes, some distant noise pulled her awake again.
Sometimes it was a metallic bang,
Sometimes hurried footsteps,Sometimes voices muffled by concrete walls.
And sometimes...
Screams.
Abbie never knew if they were real.
That was the worst part.
The uncertainty,The possibility.
Black Orchid didn't need to hurt her.
Not yet.
They only needed her imagination to do the work for them.
By what felt like the second night, exhaustion had begun to blur the edges of her thoughts. She sat on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest, trying desperately not to think about what might be happening outside that room.
Then the door opened again,
Victor Hale stepped inside.
Unlike everyone else, he didn't carry a file.
He didn't carry a weapon.
Yet somehow his presence felt heavier than either weapon nor an investigation file. Abbie stood immediately.
"Where is Adrian?"
Victor regarded her quietly.
"Running, playing hide and seek."
The answer was simple, but it struck her like a blow.
At least he was alive,for now.
"You did this to him," she said.
Victor's expression remained unreadable.
"No. The system did."
"That's a convenient excuse."
Something flickered in his eyes.
A brief shadow of regret.
Gone almost instantly.
Victor walked to the camera mounted in the corner and looked up at it.
Then he turned back to her.
"Do you know why you're here, Abbie?"
"Because you couldn't catch him."
Victor shook his head.
"No."
A pause followed,then his next words made her blood run cold.
"You're here because he cares."
Abbie stared at him.
Victor continued.
"If Adrian believed you were a stranger, you would already be home."
The room suddenly felt smaller.
"He will come for me," she said quietly.
Victor didn't deny it.
"Yes."
"And you're waiting for that."
Another pause.
"Yes."
The honesty was somehow more terrifying than a lie.
Abbie looked toward the camera, toward the hidden observers behind it and the entire system watching her suffer and calculating Adrian's response.
Only then did she truly understand.This wasn't an interrogation
She wasn't the target,she was bait,And somewhere out there, Adrian was moving closer to the trap with every passing hour.