(LIAM'S POV)
The container was a tomb of living shadows.
I sat with my back pressed against the cold, corrugated metal wall, my knees drawn up to my chest, my arms wrapped around them as if I could hold myself together. The air kept getting thicker with the stench of unwashed bodies, fear-sweat, and blood that had been spilled and never fully cleaned. The dim, flickering bulb overhead buzzed like a dying insect, creating harsh, shifting shadows that made everyone look like ghosts.
My mind was a warzone.
'Think, Liam. Think., '
I pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes until I saw stars, trying to force my brain to work past the terror. How did I get here? And more importantly—how the hell do I get back home?
They had told me the truth. Dylan and Roland. They had tried to explain about the supernatural, about seals breaking, about powers waking up. And I had called them liars. I had called them crazy. I had 'fought' them.
