The piercing sound of screams intermingled with the sharp echo of collapsing walls. Each footstep reverberated with urgency as Roman and I dashed down the ancient stone cliffside staircase. The air was thick with dust and acrid smoke, but the most haunting sound was that of the screams—distant, echoing cries of terror and despair.
The world around me seemed to be falling apart, but the solid stone under my feet remained defiantly intact, leading me to the sole surviving refuge—the dock.
As we made our way down, my heart raced at the sheer scale of the devastation. The beautiful research center, once carved seamlessly into the cliffside, now lay in ruins. Only the old museum tower stood, its tall silhouette casting a long shadow over the destruction below. Its untouched state was a testament to its enduring strength amidst chaos.
Surveying the dock, I could see the aftermath of the devastation on the once proud fleet of ships. The closer vessels lay broken and battered, their hulls crushed under fallen rubble. But further out, a few ships bobbed, still anchored and intact. Even further out, untouched by the destruction, a small array of vessels floated serenely on the water, including a sleek, modern yacht that stood out from the rest.
“That’s mine,” Roman said, pointing toward the yacht, his voice breathless. “We’ll be safe once we’re on board. It’s equipped for any situation. The crew is prepared for international waters. They’ll get you to Ky’rn.”
We quickened our pace, the promise of safety spurring us on. As we approached the yacht, Roman bellowed instructions to the onboard staff. But once we set foot on the ramp, a figure emerged from the shadows, moving with predatory swiftness.
Before I could process what was happening, the figure violently struck Roman with the butt of a pistol. He crumpled to the floor, pain etched across his face.
I reached instinctively for my own gun, ready to defend us, but another shadow blindsided me. A sharp pain flared at the side of my head, and my vision blurred.
The last thing I registered was the cold, hard deck beneath me as the fading cries and the roaring sea became distant, muffled sounds.
* * *
A throbbing pain pierced my head, pulling me back from the abyss of unconsciousness.
Soft fabric cradled my body. My eyelids felt heavy as I forced them open, revealing the unfamiliar surroundings of an opulent bedroom.
The room seemed to blend the old and the new, with intricate wooden carvings lining the walls and state-of-the-art tech seamlessly incorporated. But it wasn’t the luxurious decor that captured my attention—it was the rippling waves against the evening sky visible through the massive windows. The gentle swaying beneath me was unmistakable. I was on a moving boat.
Despite the room’s allure, dread rapidly overtook me.
With great effort, I pushed myself to a seated position, cradling my aching head in my hands. Flashes of memory hit me in rapid succession—the joyless wedding, the deafening explosions, the frantic dash to the dock, and that cold, brutal assault that had left Roman and me defenseless.
The sinking realization hit me. I’d been taken. Again.
A sick feeling of dread twisted my gut, and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead. My breaths became rapid, shallow. Despair bored down, threatening to break me.
Desperate hope made me glance once again at the vast expanse of water outside. The boat’s rapid movement, cutting through the waves, left me feeling isolated and vulnerable.
My fingers fumbled along the soft fabric of my gown until they found the familiar weight of my concealed gun. Relief surged, momentarily pushing the fear away. My trusty gun, nestled safely in my gown’s hidden pocket, was a glimmer of hope I could cling to.
I took several deep breaths, fighting back the rising tide of panic. I couldn’t afford to let fear immobilize me. Not now. The chaos back at the compound meant that no search party would be coming for me anytime soon. Search and rescue would be tied up for days, if not weeks. The likelihood of anyone coming to find me was slim to none.
Guilt gnawed at me. The faceless employees, the innocent souls who may have perished in the explosions—my heart ached thinking of the possible loss of life because of Roman’s recklessness.
Drawing strength from the anger simmering within, I slid off the bed and steadied myself. I would have to be cautious, clever, and ready for anything.
I was alone, truly and utterly, with possibly dangerous captors. And the only person I could rely on to navigate through this storm was myself.
The weight of the gown had been both a curse and a blessing. Its layers and layers of silk and tulle had hidden my weapon, but it slowed me down, hindering mobility. It had to go.
Laying my pistol on the bed, I hastily removed the intricately embroidered overskirt and its accompanying underskirts. The layers fell away, each one a weight lifted. When I was finally down to my bridal shapewear, I felt oddly vulnerable yet liberated. Free from the confines of the dress, I was more agile, more capable of defending myself.
I bundled the discarded layers together, shaping and molding them in the dim light until they resembled a figure curled up on the floor—hopefully, at first glance, it would look like me.
Armed with my gun once more, I took a moment to strategize, eyeing the door to the en suite bathroom just across from my makeshift decoy. A plan began to form. The idea was risky, perhaps even foolish, but I couldn’t afford to sit here passively, waiting for enemies to come for me.
While the boat was large enough to house several people, I was banking on the assumption that it wasn’t too crowded. This wasn’t a massive ship; it was more personal, more intimate. And in close quarters, if I had the advantage of surprise on my side, the odds might just tip in my favor.
If I could make it seem like I was vulnerable and attempting to contact the outside world, it might be enough to bait one of them in. From there, I could attempt an ambush.
Creeping over to the bathroom door, I left it slightly ajar, enough for an intruder to see a sliver of my silhouette and hear a fake, trembling conversation, but not enough for them to see my prepared ambush.
