CATHERINE
The warehouse smelled of rust and old seawater, like the kind of place where bad things went to die. The air was thick, stale, carrying the mixture of oil and mold. They’d shoved me into a cramped office on the second floor, overlooking the main floor where the armed me were.
The chair beneath me was metal, the cold biting into my skin. My wrists ached where the rope dug into them, bound tightly behind the chair. My ankles were tied too, but not as well. If I twisted hard enough, I could loosen them.
T said it was just theatrics, to sell this whole thing but I had a really bad feeling about this.
The door was cracked open just enough that I could hear muffled voices from the floor below. Orders barked. The scrape of crates. Laughter. Every sound grated on my nerves.
And no
