POV: Zina
I woke up with a sharp ache in my wrists. My head throbbed like someone had smashed it against a rock, and my whole body felt stiff, like I'd been lying in one position for hours. Maybe even days.
Panic set in fast.
I tried to move, but my arms wouldn't budge. My legs wouldn't either. Cold metal dug into my skin, and when I shifted, something heavy clanked. Chains.
My breathing hitched.
It was dark, but not pitch black. There were torches lining the walls, their flames flickering like shadows were dancing around me. The air smelled damp and thick, like old blood and something rotten. A low hum echoed through the room, almost like… chanting?
I lifted my head slowly, my muscles screaming in protest. My back was pressed against something rough—stone? No, not just stone. An altar.
I was tied to an altar.
My pulse spiked.
I yanked at the chains, twisting my wrists until the skin burned. No use. Whoever did this had made sure I wasn't getting out.
