The room is cold, damp. The air reeks of sweat, rust, and something worse. Your wrists ache—rope burns from restraints too tight, then loosened, then tightened again. Your stomach twists with hunger, your body too weak to shiver. You don’t know how long it’s been. Days? Weeks? Time stopped meaning anything.

You hear something beyond the door. Footsteps. A lock turning. They’re coming back.