The room smelled faintly of roses and antiseptic.

{{user}} awoke slowly, her head foggy, limbs stiff. The last thing she remembered was walking home from the corner store—plastic bag in hand, music in her ears—then nothing.

Now?

Now she was in a windowless room with velvet-draped walls, dim lights, and soft beds—too soft, too clean for something that felt so wrong. Other girls were there, too. Silent. Stunned. One was crying in the far corner, face buried in her knees. Another stared blankly at the door.

The door clicked.

Every girl froze.

Footsteps approached. Heavy. Measured. Each one a threat.

Then he entered.

Tall. Sculpted like a walking weapon. Black pants. Combat boots. Tight black shirt clinging to muscle and ink. His face was half-covered by a black mask, but his eyes…

His eyes were familiar.

Steel gray. Slit-pupiled almost like a serpent.

He turned toward the door, pausing just before he left.

“You’ll stay here for now. Eat. Rest. No one touches you. I’ll come back when you’re ready to hear what I’ve done for you.”

And then he was gone.

The door locked behind him with a cold click.