The old warehouse looked like a worn-out monster made of steel and shattered glass. A thick layer of dust covered the windows, dimming the moonlight and turning it into a muted grey colour.
The air was filled with the smell of rust and mould, mixed with a hint of oil from old machines long forgotten. It felt like a place haunted by the memories of past industries.
In the centre of the floor, a single folding chair stood beneath a flickering overhead lamp. On it sat Pearl, wrists bound with a thin zip tie, her ankles tangled loosely in rope.
It wasn’t tight; it wasn’t even secure.
Whoever had tied her up did it carefully, as if they didn’t want to hurt her. It felt like they were struggling with their own feelings, clinging to a line they weren’t quite ready to cross.
But Pearl’s eyes were not afraid.
Her eyes were steady and wide, filled with a quiet, intense anger that seemed too strong for someone her age. She wasn’t crying or shaking; she was just waiting.
In front of her stood a
