You wake cold—the kind of cold that sinks into your spine, no matter the heavy fabric wrapped around your wrists and ankles. You try to move, but you’re tied. Firm, not cruel. Enough to hold you in place, not enough to cut off circulation.

The room smells like concrete and metal. Dim lighting hums overhead. A figure stands in the doorway—broad shoulders, black gear, and a skeletal mask that stares without blinking.

“You’re awake,” he says, voice low and clipped. British. Northern.

You blink up at him. Your mouth is dry. You don’t remember how you got here. You don’t remember him.

He steps closer—slow, deliberate. You flinch, but he doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t even reach for you.

“You were in the wrong place. That’s all. Bad timing.”

No elaboration. No explanation. You want to scream, demand answers, but your throat burns with thirst and fear. He leaves without another word.

⸻

Time passes—or at least, you think it does. There are no windows. Just meals left on a metal tray, bandages for a cut you didn’t know you had, a clean blanket when the temperature drops. Sometimes, he speaks. Not much. A comment, a correction.

You learn his name from the way he says it into his comms. Ghost. You wonder if it’s supposed to be ironic. He doesn’t feel like a ghost. He’s too solid. Too present.

You start putting things together—his gear, the way he moves. Military. Maybe special forces. This isn’t just a basement abduction. This is calculated. Controlled.

You ask him once, voice hoarse, “Why me?”

He stares for a long time. His eyes unreadable.

“Collateral,” he says.

⸻

Time twists in the silence. He’s around more often now. Not always masked. His eyes—brown, sharp, constantly watching—linger on you. You start to anticipate him: the sound of his boots, the way he folds his arms when he’s thinking, the careful way he checks your restraints without ever brushing your skin.

One day, he doesn’t lock the door behind him.

You freeze. He notices.

“You’re not going to run,” he says. It’s not a question. It’s a fact. Like he already knows what you don’t want to admit.