177Emilia’s POV
The stench of the room was suffocating—sweat, alcohol, and something metallic that I couldn’t quite place. My head hung low, my body too weak to sit upright for long. Days had passed—how many, I didn’t know—and the ache in my bones felt permanent now. I’d been left alone most of the time, which, as degrading as this situation was, had become a small mercy.
Until tonight.
The sound of boots scraping against the concrete floor reached my ears before the door groaned open. I flinched involuntarily, my hands curling into weak fists as three of them entered the room. I recognized them immediately: the smug one with the crooked nose and greasy hair, the one who had smacked me in the van, and a wiry man who always seemed to watch me a little too closely.
“Look at her,” Crooked
