Illyana's POV
The muffled sounds of voices, of footsteps, of a distant melody, filtered through the darkness that enveloped me, a darkness borne of a thick blindfold, tight and suffocating, pressing against my eyelids.
My hands were bound, the ropes rough against my skin, a constant, chafing reminder of my captivity, my helplessness. I struggled against the restraints, my movements small, tentative, testing the limits of my confinement. Panic, a cold knot in my stomach, tightened its grip, but I pushed it back, forcing myself to take slow, deep breaths, to focus on the present, on gathering information, on surviving.
The air, thick and heavy with the scent of sandalwood and old money, triggered a memory, a chillingly familiar sensation that made my blood run cold. This wasn’t the steril
