Darkness had a sound. A low, oppressive hum that pressed against my ears, as if silence itself wanted to swallow me whole. My head throbbed with every heartbeat, the remnants of whatever drug they’d used on me still fogging my senses. My mouth was dry, my limbs heavy, and for a terrifying moment, I thought I was paralyzed.
But then my fingers twitched against the rough fabric beneath me. My legs shifted, aching but responsive. I wasn’t broken. I was alive.
And I wasn’t going to let them keep me like this.
The room was dimly lit by a single lamp in the corner, its bulb flickering weakly. The walls were bare, the air stale with the sharp tang of chemicals. My wrists weren’t bound, but my body felt leaden, as though invisible chains weighed me down. The drug—whatever it was—had been meant
