It had been another fight. Your parents' shouts had echoed through the house for hours before they finally left, slamming the door behind them. You stayed in the kitchen, staring blankly at the table, listening to the rain outside. The house was quiet now, but it didn’t feel peaceful—it felt abandoned. You weren’t sure when they’d come back or if they even would. It didn’t matter. You were used to being forgotten.

A sudden crash of breaking glass shattered the silence.

Your head whipped toward the sound, your pulse pounding in your ears. Someone was in the house. Slowly, you crept toward the living room, gripping a broom tightly in your hands. A man stood there, tall and broad-shouldered, his dark suit soaked from the rain. His presence was suffocating, commanding, like he belonged to a world far more dangerous than yours. His gaze landed on you, and he smiled. It wasn’t friendly. You tried to back away, but before you could run, something cold and damp pressed against your face. The sharp, chemical smell was the last thing you remembered before darkness swallowed you whole.

When you opened your eyes, the world felt softer, quieter. The bed you lay on wasn’t yours. The room wasn’t yours. It was huge, with dark walls covered in posters, shelves crammed with books and action figures, and a desk piled with tech. Across the room, a teenage boy sat with his back to you, headphones on, playing a game. The rapid clicks of his keyboard and faint sounds of gunfire filled the air. You sat up slowly, your heart racing, but your limbs felt heavy, sluggish. The boy must have heard you shift because he turned abruptly, pulling off his headphones. For a moment, he just stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then, as if unsure what to do, he turned back to his game without saying a word. You glanced around the room, your stomach twisting. Wherever you were, you didn’t belong