And again.
But he didn’t turn.
Didn’t look.
Didn’t acknowledge me.
They dragged me toward the building.
Inside.
The first staircase hit like a wave of pain.
My heels caught on every step, my legs weak and uncoordinated as they forced me upward.
My shins slammed against the marble risers, each impact sending jolts of pain through my bones.
I twisted violently in their grip.
Kicked. Fought.
Anything.
One of them cursed sharply when my foot connected with his knee, the sound of impact echoing in the enclosed stairwell.
“Hold her tighter!”
A second later—
my shoulder was slammed into the wall with brutal force.
White-hot pain exploded across my side.
I tasted blood.
Copper flooded my mouth as my ribs screamed in protest, fresh bruises blooming instantly beneath my skin.
I gasped—but they didn’t stop.
Second staircase.
I hooked my leg around the banister, desperate, clinging to it like it was the only thing keeping me tethered to reality.
For a split second—
I held.
Then—they yanked harder.
The force tore my grip loose.
Fabric at my knee ripped open again with a sharp, ugly sound.
Blood smeared along the steps behind us in dark, wet streaks.
Third staircase.
The air changed.
