I felt consciousness return in fragments.

  A dull ache behind my eyes. The taste of metal in my mouth. The cold.

  Concrete.

  That was the first thing I registered. Cold, hard concrete beneath my cheek. The air was damp and stale, carrying the faint smell of dust and something rusted.

  I forced my eyes open.

  Gray walls. No windows. A single overhead bulb humming faintly somewhere above me, casting a harsh, unforgiving light.

  "Where am I..." I croaked, my throat raw and dry.

  Then the panic set in.

  My wrists burned. I tried to move—nothing. My hands were bound tightly behind me. My ankles too. The rough material bit into my skin every time I shifted.

  My breathing sped up instantly.

  No.

  No no no.

  The room felt familiar in the worst possible way. Not the same pce—but the same feeling.

  Trapped.

  Vulnerable.

  Exposed.

  My chest tightened until it hurt.

  "I can't..." My voice broke before the words fully formed.

  The memories threatened to surface—the fear, the helplessness, the way it felt to have no control over your own body.

  I started sobbing before I could stop myself. It wasn't quiet. It wasn't controlled. It tore out of me, messy and desperate.

  "Why me?" I choked, tears blurring the harsh light above. "I don't deserve this... I don't deserve any of this shit!"

  I pulled against the bindings again, harder this time, until the friction stung.

  They didn't budge.

  The restraint made the air feel thinner, like the room itself was closing in. My heart pounded so violently I thought I might pass out again.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to slow my breathing.

  'You're alive.'

  'You're still alive.'

  The thought was fragile—but it was something.

  Car would notice.

  Car would come.

  She always did.

  I swallowed hard, forcing myself to breathe through the panic, even as tears continued sliding down onto the cold concrete beneath me.

  "Will I ever escape this hell..." I whispered, my voice barely carrying in the empty room.

  The concrete walls didn't answer.

  I shifted slightly, the rough floor scraping against my shoulder. My breathing had slowed from frantic to shaky, each inhale still catching at the end.

  Then something caught the light.

  I looked down at my chest.

  The neckce.

  The pink diamonds Car had given me glimmered faintly under the harsh overhead bulb. Even in this ugly, gray room, they held their color—soft, warm, alive.

  For a moment, I just stared at them.

  I remembered the day she put it around my neck. The way her fingers brushed the back of my colr. The way she'd smiled like it wasn't just jewelry—it was a promise.

  "You're mine," she had murmured then. possessive. Protective.

  The memory steadied me.

  My lip trembled, and a tear slipped free, rolling down my cheek and nding against the cold skin of my chest. My shirt was already damp from crying, fabric clinging uncomfortably to me.

  "Please come rescue me soon," I whispered, my voice cracking.

  The diamonds caught another flicker of light as I shifted.

  They weren't just pretty.

  They were proof.

  Proof that I wasn't alone in the world anymore. Proof that someone out there would tear this pce apart to find me.

  My fingers flexed uselessly against the restraints, but my mind felt a little clearer now.

  They could bind my hands.

  They could lock me in concrete.

  But they couldn't erase the fact that I was loved.

  And that meant something.

  Even here.

  I had cried until my throat burned and my tears ran dry.

  Time had dissolved into something shapeless — just the hum of the light above me and the ache in my wrists.

  Then—

  A sound.

  Metal scraping.

  A lock turning.

  My head snapped toward the far corner of the room where a heavy steel door slowly creaked open.

  Light from the hallway spilled across the concrete floor in a long, sharp line.

  Four silhouettes stepped inside.

  Three of them moved first—tactical boots, rifles held comfortably like extensions of their bodies. Their faces were partially covered, eyes alert, scanning the room even though I was the only thing in it.

  Then the fourth stepped through.

  She didn't wear bck.

  She wore red.

  A sharply tailored red suit that looked almost theatrical against the gray concrete. The color was deep and deliberate—like blood that had dried but never faded. Her heels clicked softly as she walked, unhurried.

  My heart began hammering again.

  Each step she took toward me felt calcuted.

  Controlled.

  "Qué delicioso," (how delicious) she murmured, her voice low and almost amused.

  I swallowed hard.

  She stopped directly in front of me and crouched down slowly, bringing herself to eye level. I could see her clearly now—beautiful features, puffy lips, eyes sharp and assessing.

  Like I wasn't a person.

  Like I was inventory.

  Her fingers reached out and cupped my face.

  Cold rings brushed against my skin.

  I flinched as far back as the restraints would allow, turning my head away instinctively.

  A soft chuckle escaped her.

  "I won't hurt you... precious little thing," she said, tilting her head slightly as if studying a fragile object.

  My breathing quickened despite my effort to stay steady.

  Her thumb brushed beneath my eye, wiping away the dried tear track almost mockingly.

  "You're going to bring me a lot of money," she continued, a dark ugh slipping from her lips—smooth, controlled, and deeply unsettling.

  The three armed women behind her remained silent, unmoving, watching.

  The room suddenly felt smaller.

  Colder.

  I forced myself not to break again in front of her.

  Not to give her the satisfaction.

  But my pulse wouldn't slow.

  Because in her eyes—I wasn't a hostage. I was a product.

  "Car has amazing taste in men. You're one of a kind, mijo."

  Her voice was smooth, almost affectionate—which somehow made it worse.

  I turned my head away from her touch, fixing my eyes on a crack running along the concrete wall. If I didn't look at her, maybe she wouldn't feel as real. Maybe this would feel less like a transaction already being negotiated over my head.

  She studied me anyway. I could feel it.

  "Lunch is in an hour... until then..." she said casually.

  Before I could react, she reached down and began unfastening the restraints.

  The tight pressure around my wrists loosened first. Blood rushed painfully back into my hands, pins and needles shooting through my fingers as I slowly brought them forward. Then my ankles. The final strap around my torso fell away.

  I was free.

  Technically.

  I flexed my hands cautiously, rubbing at the raw skin where the bindings had dug in. My muscles felt weak, stiff from being tied up for so long.

  For half a second, the instinct to run surged through me.

  The door was open.

  She wasn't even holding me.

  But the three armed women were still there. Their rifles never lowered. Their eyes never softened.

  And something in the red-suited woman's expression told me she almost wanted me to try.

  Punishment would follow.

  And it would be quick.

  I stayed where I was.

  "Smart," she murmured softly, as if reading my hesitation.

  She stood, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her red bzer. "Behave, and this will all be very comfortable for you."

  Comfortable.

  The word echoed hollowly in my chest.

  A moment ter, the door opened again. Two different guards entered this time, pushing a metal cart. Its wheels squeaked faintly against the concrete floor.

  My stomach twisted when I saw what it carried.

  Electronics.

  Phones. Tablets. Laptops. Cables coiled neatly and still in pstic wraps.

  They said nothing. Not a single word.

  They positioned the cart near the wall, plugged nothing in yet—just left it there like a preview of what was coming.

  Then they exited.

  The heavy door shut with a metallic cng.

  The lock slid back into pce.

  And just like that, I was alone again.

  Untied.

  Free to move within a locked concrete box.

  My eyes drifted from the equipment... down to the pink diamonds resting against my chest.

  Lunch in an hour.

  I had no idea what that really meant.

  But I knew one thing.

  This wasn't random.

  This was pnned.

  I stood slowly, legs shaky at first, the cold floor biting into my bare feet as circution fully returned.

  The room felt different now that I wasn't tied down. Bigger but still suffocating.

  My eyes drifted to the metal cart.

  If they left it here, maybe they were careless.

  Or maybe they were confident.

  I stepped closer, heart beating harder with each movement. The equipment was neatly arranged —too neatly. Brand-new ptop on top. Protective pstic still lining the edges.

  I reached for it carefully, half-expecting someone to burst in the second I touched it.

  Nothing happened.

  I lifted it and sat back down against the wall, opening it with trembling fingers. The screen lit up instantly. Clean. Factory fresh.

  Guest profile avaible.

  Hope fred in my chest.

  I clicked it.

  It loaded.

  There was Wi-Fi.

  Actual Wi-Fi.

  My pulse spiked.

  "Okay. Okay. Think."

  I moved the cursor carefully, trying not to rush. Email. If I could just send something. One message. One word.

  Car.

  Anyone.

  I clicked the email icon.

  Nothing.

  I clicked again.

  The cursor spun for half a second—then stopped.

  I tried again, pressing harder like that would somehow force it open.

  Nothing.

  My breathing grew heavier.

  "No... no, no..."

  I checked the browser.

  Blocked.

  Settings.

  Restricted.

  Every application that could reach the outside world was disabled.

  The Wi-Fi symbol wasn't freedom.

  It was bait.

  "Fuck..." I muttered, smming the ptop shut harder than I meant to. The sound echoed in the empty concrete room.

  Of course it was too good to be true.

  They weren't stupid.

  They wanted me to see it. To touch it. To realize escape was right there—but not really.

  I leaned my head back against the wall, staring up at the harsh overhead light. It buzzed faintly, indifferent to my frustration.

  My chest rose and fell slower now. Not panicked.

  Just tired.

  "Come soon, Car..." I whispered into the sterile air.

  "I guess YouTube will have to do for now..."

  The pink diamonds at my chest felt warmer than the room.

  And I held onto that warmth like it was the only real thing left.

  ——