“Amy, fall ba—”
I turned to warn Amy, but I was already too late.
A sharp hiss sliced through the air as vents hidden in the ceiling snapped open in unison, releasing thick white smoke that poured downward like something pulled from a nightmare.
It moved with terrifying speed, rolling across the room, swallowing the corners and blinding us within seconds.
The smell hit immediately—chemical, acrid, burning—leaving no doubt in my mind.
It was gas.
My lungs seized as I dragged in a breath I shouldn’t have taken, fire ripping through my chest as my eyes burned and my vision smeared, my muscles already weakening beneath me.
Somewhere through the haze, training cut in and named it for what it was—an incapacitant. The smoke filling the room wasn’t meant to kill us; it was designed to drop us alive.
Realization struck hard. This was a trap. And yet the only person on my mind was Amy, the one who mattered more to me than anyone else in the world.
I lunged toward where I’d last seen her, fingers clawing at empty air, failing to find her, failing to reach her, even as theroom pitched violently and the floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet.
“Amy—”
My knees gave way, and the ground rushed up to meet me as darkness crashed down, heavy and final, like a hammer to the skull.
CONSCIOUSNESS CRAWLEDback slowly, dragging pain with it.
My head throbbed in deep, pulsing waves. Every heartbeat sent agony ricocheting behind my eyes.
My mouth tasted of copper and chemicals, my tongue thick and useless. I tried to move and realized I couldn’t.
I was upright.
My arms were wrenched painfully behind me, wrists zip-tied to a metal pole so tight the plastic bit into skin and bone.
My shirt was gone. My boots were gone. Just my pants and bare feet on cold concrete, the chill seeping straight into my spine.
I forced my eyes open.
Harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, bleaching the room in merciless white. A warehouse, maybe. Or a reinforced basement.
Concrete walls. Exposed pipes. No windows.
Men lounged along the edges of the room—six of them at least. Guards. AKs slung casually, fingers loose on triggers. They smoked cigarettes, laughed quietly among themselves. One of them nudged another and nodded toward me.
They were watching.
Enjoying it.
I tested the zip ties—subtle, controlled pressure.
Nothing. No give.
“Where are they?” I shouted, voice raw, shredded by gas and rage. “Where are the women?”
No answer.
Just slow smiles. Exhaled smoke. One of them flicked ash onto the floor near my feet like a joke.
“If you’ve touched them—” My chest heaved as fury surged. “If you’ve harmed them, I swear to God I’ll—”
