Lena's POV
The man with the black cap had his hand over my mouth and a needle in my neck before I made it ten feet down the hospital hallway. I woke up with a headache that split my skull in half, zip ties biting into my wrists behind a metal chair, mouth dry as sand, ankles taped to the chair legs.
The room smelled like mildew and old motor oil, one bare bulb swinging overhead, concrete floor, no windows, somewhere cold because I could see my breath.
A man sat across from me at a folding table cleaning a gun with calm practiced hands, black cap on backwards now, early forties, scar running down his left cheek, not Viktor, someone else.
He looked up when I shifted in the chair, smiled thin.
He said, "Morning sleeping beauty, how is the head."
I tried to answer and realized my mouth
