CHAPTER 13: THE DARKNESS BEHIND THE TRUTH
767 Words
Freya woke up in a dimly lit room. A dull, throbbing pain lingered at the back of her head, making her wince as she tried to move. Her body felt heavy, and as she attempted to shift, she quickly realized that her hands were tightly bound behind her back. A wave of panic washed over her.
"Where am I?"
Her breathing became uneven as she struggled to recall what had happened. Tito Cerio’s warning, the name Lysandra, and then—everything blurred into darkness. The last thing she remembered was a strong hand covering her mouth before she lost consciousness.
A cold shiver ran down her spine.
Someone had taken her.
Freya’s heart pounded as she turned her head, trying to make sense of her surroundings. Shadows danced across the walls, the only source of light coming from a small, high-placed window. The air smelled of damp wood and dust, and the eerie silence made the space feel even more suffocating. Judging by the stillness outside, it was likely the middle of the night.
She bit her lip, forcing herself to stay calm. Think, Freya. Think.
The creak of a door interrupted her thoughts.
A sharp, deliberate sound.
Her body stiffened as a pair of footsteps echoed through the room. A chilling voice followed.
"So, you're finally awake."
Freya’s breath hitched. She slowly looked up—and there, standing in the doorway, was the last person she expected to see in such a situation.
Lysandra Suarez.
The realization hit her like a slap.
It was her. Lysandra was behind all of this.
Freya’s throat went dry.
The woman stepped closer, her heels clicking against the wooden floor. There was no urgency in her movements, only a slow, calculated grace that sent a wave of unease through Freya’s chest.
"You seem surprised," Lysandra mused, tilting her head slightly, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. Her eyes gleamed with amusement, but underneath that, there was something darker. Something sinister.
Freya clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms.
“What do you mean by this?” she asked, voice steady despite the tension coiling in her gut.
Lysandra let out a low chuckle, crouching in front of her until their faces were mere inches apart. Freya could feel the coldness radiating from her.
“You ask too many questions, Freya,” she murmured, lifting a finger to trace an invisible pattern along Freya’s cheek. Her touch was featherlight but carried an unmistakable threat. “And do you know what happens to people who are too curious?”
Freya refused to flinch.
Lysandra’s lips curled into something between a smirk and a sneer.
“They disappear.”
The air between them grew heavier.
Freya's heartbeat drummed against her ribs.
I need to get out of here.
The ropes around her wrists burned against her skin as she tested their strength. But before she could attempt anything further, the door swung open again.
Another figure entered the room.
“Lysandra, we have a problem.”
Freya turned her head toward the new arrival.
A man.
She didn’t recognize him immediately, but his posture and the expensive cut of his suit made it clear—he was someone of importance. There was authority in the way he carried himself, but there was also an air of urgency in his tone.
Lysandra’s expression soured.
“What now, Hector?” she snapped, standing up and turning to face him.
Freya observed their interaction closely, her mind working fast.
Hector. So that was his name.
Who was he?
The man—Hector—glanced at Freya before speaking, his gaze sharp and assessing.
“We need to end this. Before it’s too late.”
Lysandra narrowed her eyes.
Freya held her breath as their gazes locked.
Something passed between them—an unspoken tension, a silent argument. Whatever was happening, it was clear that even Lysandra’s accomplices were growing uneasy.
Lysandra let out a sigh, running a hand through her dark hair before turning back to Freya.
A slow, almost sweet smile stretched across her face.
“Don’t worry, Hector,” she cooed, reaching out to grasp Freya’s chin between her fingers.
Freya’s skin crawled at the cold touch.
“This will all be over soon.”
Hector didn’t look convinced, but he said nothing more.
Freya, on the other hand, felt a sickening dread curl in her stomach.
She knew, from the way Lysandra looked at her, from the venom laced in her words
She wasn’t bluffing.
And the worst part?
She had no idea what Lysandra had planned for her.
- Writer
