Luna’s breath hitched as she stepped into the dimly lit basement. The air was damp and heavy, the faint smell of iron and decay stinging her nostrils. Her grip on the crowbar tightened, her knuckles white, as her eyes adjusted to the eerie glow of a single hanging bulb.
The room was a grim tableau—tools of indiscernible purpose lined the walls, and a stained table stood ominously in the center. The sight made her stomach churn. She didn’t want to imagine what had happened here, but the evidence was all around her. And then her heart nearly stopped.
Carla was lying on the table.
“Carla!” Luna whispered, her voice trembling as she rushed to her friend’s side. Carla was unconscious, her face pale, her breathing shallow. Her hands and feet were bound with rough rope, her wrists marked by ra
