Sam
My head is pounding.
That's the first thing I notice—the dull, throbbing ache behind my eyes that makes it hard to think, hard to focus.
I try to move my hand to touch my face, but something stops me.
My wrists won't move.
I pull harder, and that's when I feel it—the sharp bite of plastic cutting into my skin.
Zip ties.
My eyes snap open, and the world tilts.
The ceiling above me is stained and cracked, lit by a single bare bulb hanging from a wire. The light flickers, casting shadows that make the room feel smaller than it is.
I try to sit up, but my hands are bound behind my back, and the angle makes it impossible. I'm lying on a bed—a mattress with no
sheets, just a thin, stained fabric that smells like mildew and something worse.
Panic flares in my chest.
Where am I?
