The man groans, jerking backward—letting go of your arm and uncovering your mouth as he stumbles away, cussing loudly.
You scream, trying to run.
Unfortunately, another man steps in front of you. This guy’s got on a ski mask so you can’t see his face, and he mutters something about the other guy being an idiot for forgetting his.
What are they, the world’s worst kidnappers?
Except maybe they’re notcompletelythe worst, because before you can make it three feet, Ski Mask Guy hauls you back, his grip painfully hard on your arm.
Oof.
That’s going to bruise.
“Thought you could get away, huh?” He laughs, ripping your purse from where you had it slung across your body, throwing it onto the pavement before shoving you into the waiting van with a resoundingslamof the door.
No!
Your purse had your phone in it!
Without that, you won’t be able to call for help.
You fumble at the door, yanking the handle with all your might, but it must be rigged not to open from the inside, because you can’t get it to budge. Same with the trunk.
And there’s a wire grate blocking you from escaping through the front seats.
You’re stuck.
“Drive!” Ski Mask yells at the guy you kicked in the balls as they both climb into the front. Balls Guy is still groaning.
At least you can celebrate that little victory?
But not for long.
At your left wrist, you already feel the tingling pull of the magical link as it’s stretched.
What will happen if they drive away now? Will the link stretch until it snaps…and then you and Ziros will both die?
You cringe, trying not to think about it.
Surely it’s just tingling because Ziros is wondering what’s taking you so long in the bathroom.
Maybe he’s already sensed something is wrong and he’ll come running out to save you any second now.
That’s gotta be it.
Surely he’s about to bust open this van and teach your kidnappers not to mess with his…uh.His human?
Now you’re sitting there in the kidnappers’ van, remembering everything that’s happened between you.
And wondering if you really mean nothing to him.
But maybe this isn’t the best time for such thoughts, because just then, the driver peels out in a rush of squealing tires. You fly back against the wall, groaning as you rub your head, glad at least your hands aren’t bound.
“Where are you jerks taking me?” You ask, gripping part of the metal side wall so you don’t fall over as they swerve around another corner.
They ignore you.
Of course they do.
