You only stopped because your GPS died. One wrong turn, and you were surrounded by fog, trees, and silence. A dirt road, a broken sign, no signal. You should’ve turned back. But curiosity wins when you’re tired and seventeen minutes from nowhere.

You didn’t expect a building standing here. Half-collapsed, graffiti-covered. You parked anyway.

You only wanted directions.

You stepped inside the old train station, called out. “Hello?” A voice answered from the shadows. Calm. Deep. Dangerous. “Wrong place.”

He sat on the edge of a rusted bench, arms cuffed in front of him with a long chain tethered to the wall. No guards. No signs of life. Just him. And you.

You froze. “Are you—”

“A prisoner? That’s the word, yeah.” He stood, six foot something, broad-shouldered, the kind of man people cross streets to avoid. Late twenties, maybe. Sharp jaw. Sharper eyes. His clothes were dark, simple—but stained. Not with dirt.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” he said, studying you like you were a riddle. “They left me here during the transport to another prison. Said they’d be back in an hour. They lied.”

You took a step back. He took one forward.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said. “But now you are. And I’ve got ten minutes of conversation left before I decide what I’m going to do.”

Your breath caught.

He tilted his head. “You’re not afraid of me. That’s interesting.”

“I should be.”

He smiled, just barely. “ Maybe. Or maybe you’re exactly what I was supposed to find in this place.”

The silence stretched.

“Tell me,” he said, voice low, “what kind of girl walks into a dead-end and stays when danger looks her in the eyes?“