I blinked.
Once. Twice.
Everything around me was dark—too dark. Not the kind you could blink your way through or adjust to easily. This darkness felt like it swallowed light whole. Like I'd woken up buried under a blanket of shadows with no idea of where I was.
My head pounded. My body was heavy.
Then I saw it—a dull, flickering ceiling light that barely lit up a damn thing. Definitely not enough to read under. But it helped. Barely. My eyes strained, but slowly, I started to make out shapes in the gloom. A corner. A crack on the wall. And right in front of me… bars.
I was in a cell.
What the hell?
Before I could even wrap my mind around that, the door behind the bars creaked open and light from the outside hit my face, so harsh I instinctively shut my eyes. Footsteps followed—two people. A guy and a girl. I could tell from the sounds, the weight of their steps, the way they moved.
They left the door open, letting the hallway light seep in behind them, their shadows stretching across the floor like ghosts.
That was when I noticed something else—a small living room setup beyond the cell: a couch, coffee table, TV. Like someone lived here. But I didn't hear any familiar voices beyond the room. Just murmurs. Distant. Unfamiliar. Cold.
The two figures stopped at my bars and stared. I could feel their eyes.
"So you're finally awake," the guy said. His voice was young but sharp. Cold.
I tried to get a look at his face, but the way the light hit the room made it impossible. All I saw were outlines, not features. It didn't help that my head was still spinning from whatever the hell they'd used on that handkerchief when they kidnapped me.
My body remembered that moment too well—how it burned in my nose, how the world had tilted, then collapsed.
"She needs to eat before boss gets back," the woman said, her voice less harsh but not kinder. "Give it to her."
Boss.
So they worked for someone.
Someone had sent them for me.
But who?
And why?
I opened my mouth, throat dry. My voice cracked when I finally pushed the words out.
"Who are you?" I asked. "Why am I here?"
They both laughed.
It wasn't funny.
"I was wondering when you'd ask," the woman said, smirking like this was all routine. "That's what most people do."
Then, like this was some twisted hotel check-in, they passed me a tray of food through a small slot in the bars and walked away—door slamming shut behind them.
Just like that, darkness again.
Only me… and that flickering light above.
I've never liked the dark. Not even as a kid. It's not the lack of light that scares me—it's the silence, the not knowing, the way your thoughts grow teeth in the quiet.
Still, I was starving. I eyed the tray like it might bite me. Could be poisoned, right? But then I remembered what the woman said. "Before boss gets back." So they weren't planning to kill me yet.
Fine.
I ate.
Slowly. Cautiously.
It wasn't great, but it wasn't death either.
Eventually, I must've dozed off, my back against the wall, my head spinning with questions I couldn't answer.
But sleep didn't last long.
The door creaked again.
Keys jingled.
Boots approached.
This time, the cell door clanked open.
Rough hands grabbed my arms.
No words.
They dragged me down a hallway and into another room. Brighter, but colder. Cleaner.
Metal chair.
Table.
Mirror on the wall.
My stomach sank.
This wasn't a cell.
This was an interrogation room.
And suddenly I wasn't just scared.
I was terrified.