Other cages.
Empty.
I’m the only one in here.
That should make me feel better.
It doesn’t.
I check myself fast. Jacket still on. Boots still on. Bag gone.
Knife gone too.
Of course.
How generous of them to leave me my coat.
I pat down the rest of myself anyway, like a weapon might magically appear because I want one badly enough.
Nothing.
The ache in my head sharpens as memory starts coming back in pieces.
The station.
The man by the pillar. The bag.
I thought Gabriel.
I was wrong.
No—
My jaw tightens. Not fully wrong. The first one could’ve been one of his.
But the second voice—That accent.
Not Turkish.
Armenian.
A loud metal clang rips through the dark.
I jerk toward it.
At the far end of the container, a door swings open and daylight blasts through so hard it turns everything inside white for a second. A man’s silhouette fills the frame. Broad shoulders. Still posture. One hand on the door.
I can’t make out his face yet. Just shape. Height. The outline of something dark on his head.
Then he steps inside.
The door shuts behind him with another heavy bang, and overhead lights flicker on one by one.
Not clean lights.
Bare industrial bulbs in wire cages, hanging from the ceiling on long cords, swaying slightly like someone rigged this place fast and ugly. The movement sends shadows swinging across the walls and bars and floor.
Makeshift.
