Allison
Dark.
That was the first thing she understood.
Not shadows.
Not dim light.
Dark.
The kind that swallowed edges and made time feel wrong.
Allison's head throbbed.
A slow, pulsing ache behind her eyes that made it hard to think straight. Her tongue felt dry. Her body heavy.
Drugged.
Her wrists burned next.
Rough rope. Tight enough to remind her every second that she wasn't free.
She inhaled slowly.
Counted.
One.
Two.
Three.
Stay calm.
Her heart tried to sprint ahead of her.
She forced it back.
Where am I?
The air smelled faintly of disinfectant… and something older. Concrete. Closed space. No windows. No outside sound.
A mattress beneath her.
Cheap.
Thin.
Not meant for comfort.
She shifted slightly.
Pain shot through her shoulder.
"Okay," she whispered to herself. "Not dead."
Progress.
Her mind pushed past the fog.
Safe house.
The file.
The alarms—
Her breath hitched.
Everything going dark.
Hands grabbing her.
Lucian—
Her chest tightened.
