The warehouse smelled like rust and fear. Rain drummed against the broken skylights, leaking down through cracks in the roof and onto the concrete floor where your wrists were tied. The ropes were rough, biting into your skin each time you moved — not that it mattered. You’d already tried.

Every sound outside made your stomach twist — every creak of metal, every distant footstep. You didn’t know who these people were, only that they’d said one thing before knocking you out: “Tell that Spoiler girl, she’s got something we want.”

Now, hours later, your throat was dry, adrenaline fading into exhaustion. You sat against a steel beam, pulse thundering as you tried to stay calm. It wasn’t working.

A door slammed open. Boots. Several pairs.

And then — her voice.

“Let them go. Now.”