A hand presses into my shoulder and pushes.
I stumble forward, across the threshold, into warm air that smells like polished wood and expensive flowers. My skin prickles. The interior is just as massive as the outside. High ceilings. A staircase that curves up like a stage set. A chandelier overhead, too bright, too perfect.
I clutch Lily, heart hammering.
“Stop pushing me,” I hiss, anger rising because fear has nowhere else to go.
The older woman turns fully now. She looks at Lily’s sleeping face for half a second, something unreadable passing through her eyes, then back to me.
“You keep asking why,” she says. “You will get your answer. Just not all at once.”
I swallow hard. “Who are you?”
She holds my gaze. Her voice is calm, almost polite. “My name is Irina.”
I wait for the last name. It doesn’t come.
The way she says it makes it sound like that should be enough, like the rest is a privilege you earn. Her eyes hold mine, cold and steady, then she turns as if the conversation is finished.
“No,” I say, my voice cracking. “No, you don’t get to just—why are we here? What do you want?”
Irina doesn’t even look back. She lifts her hand slightly and one of the men moves in closer behind me. “Take her,” she says, calm as if she’s ordering a cup of tea. “Room is ready.”
My stomach drops.
“Wait,” I plead, hugging Lily tighter. “She’s asleep. Please, don’t?—”
“Now,” the man says, low and impatient.
I twist away, panic rising like bile. “Don’t touch me.”
His hand clamps around my upper arm. Strong enough to hurt, not enough to bruise. Measured. Controlled. Like they’ve done this before.
I fight anyway.
“Stop!” I snap, and Lily stirs, whimpering. “You’re scaring her!”
Irina pauses just long enough to glance over her shoulder. “Then don’t scream,” she says, and keeps walking.
They steer me down a long hallway, past closed doors and quiet corners, past framed paintings that look older than the country Igrew up in. The house is too silent. No televisions. No music. No voices. Just the soft sound of our footsteps on polished floors.
At the end of the hallway, there’s a door already open.
A bedroom. Large, too clean, too staged. The bed is made perfectly. Thick curtains cover the windows. There’s a small sitting area with a couch and a coffee table, like this is meant to look comforting.
It doesn’t.
I step in and immediately turn, ready to bolt back out.
The man blocks the doorway.
“Please,” I say, my throat tight. “Let me call my friend. Let me tell her Lily is safe. She’ll call the police?—”
Irina appears in the doorway, standing just outside the room, not coming in. Like she doesn’t need to.
“She won’t,” Irina says.
My hands go cold. “How do you know that?”
