Lila's point of view
When I came to again, Reina was standing over me. The sensation of hanging was gone; instead, I found myself seated on a cold, metal chair, still naked and bound. My wrists were secured tightly behind me, and my ankles were tied to the legs of the chair. The air was stale, thick with the scent of sweat, strange energies, and something metallic—blood. My blood.
Reina stood in front of a table that hadn’t been there before. They must have rolled it in while I was unconscious. On top of it sat a box, its dark wooden surface slightly scratched, along with an array of tools—ones meant for torture. My stomach twisted at the sight. She held one in her hand, a pair of pliers, twisting it between her fingers with an almost lazy amusement.
For a moment, we just stared at each
