2

I tried to fight, tried to dig my heels into the ground, but the street was slick beneath my feet.

I slipped, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst.

I felt the van’s cold metal walls against my back before I was shoved inside.

My head hit something hard, and the world spun. I tasted blood.

The doors slammed shut, the sound echoing in the confined space.

Darkness swallowed me, thick and complete.

My body trembled, my breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps.

I was lying on my side, the rough floor beneath me biting into my skin.

My mind raced, every thought tangled in terror.

I couldn’t make sense of it.

Why was this happening?

Who was doing this?

My hands were still free, shaking uncontrollably as I fumbled for something—anything—around me.

There was nothing.

The engine roared to life, and the van jerked forward.

I was thrown against the side, my shoulder slamming into the wall.

Pain shot through me, but it felt distant, like I wasn’t really there.

My mind floated in a fog of disbelief.

This wasn’t real.

This couldn’t be real.

I tried to focus, tried to calm my breath, but the van moved too fast, the sound of the tires on the road drowning out everything else.

I counted the bumps, the turns, desperately trying to keep track of where we were going, but it was useless.

The city outside was gone.

There were no sounds now except the engine and my own frantic heartbeat.

I thought of screaming, of banging on the walls, but what good would it do?

No one would hear me.

No one even knew I was missing.

Time bled together in the dark, my thoughts spiraling into fear and confusion.

My mind couldn’t grasp it, couldn’t hold onto reality.

What did they want with me?

Was this about money?

A robbery?

It had to be something like that.

But I knew, deep down, that this wasn’t just a robbery.

The van stopped.

The engine cut off, and silence fell like a heavy weight.

My breath hitched, panic rising in my throat as I heard footsteps approach the back of the van.

The door screeched open, and light—blinding, white light—poured in.

I squinted, my body recoiling instinctively as a figure loomed over me.

I couldn’t see his face, only the silhouette of his body, broad-shouldered, towering.

He didn’t speak.

He just grabbed me again, lifting me like I weighed nothing.

I kicked out, desperate to get away, but his grip was iron, unyielding.

I was dragged out of the van, my legs scraping against the edge as he hauled me toward a narrow doorway.

My head spun, my heart pounding louder than ever, but I forced myself to look around, to see where I was being taken.

It was some kind of warehouse, maybe?

The walls were bare, the air thick with dampness and decay.

There was no sign of life anywhere, no other sounds except my own panicked breaths and the steady thud of his boots against the concrete floor.

I was pulled inside, the door slamming shut behind us with a finality that made my stomach drop.

My mind screamed at me to run, to fight, but my body was frozen, locked in terror.

His grip loosened for a moment, and I stumbled forward, trying to get my bearings.

But then, without warning, a sharp pain exploded in the back of my head, and everything went black.

2

THE WATCHER

I carried her easily, her body limp in my arms.

She’d fought at first—everyone does—but the fight never lasts.

It was better this way, better that she went under before the real work began.

The journey had been long enough, the city fading behind us as we drove deeper into the outskirts.

It was always the same.

The same quiet streets, the same empty warehouses.

No one would hear her scream out here.

The bunker was ready.

I’d spent weeks preparing it, making sure every detail was perfect.

It had to be.

She had to be broken slowly, carefully.

If I rushed, the results would be messy.

No, I had to take my time.

Time was what would unravel her.