Elena's POV
I wasn't sure how long I'd been here.
Time blurred—caught between the hum of the lights and the silence that followed every threat.
But the pain in my arm reminded me.
The blood.
The cut.
It wasn't there when I got into the car. Wasn't there when the cloth pressed over my face.
It happened after.
They didn't wait long.
Once I passed out, they pulled me out of my car like I was nothing—arms limp, head lolling. I wasn't fully conscious, but I felt it. The sharp sting across my arm as something scraped or sliced me during the transfer. Metal, maybe. Or glass.
I remembered the cold slam of the van floor. The scent of rubber, oil, and something else—bleach.
I wasn't alone in there. I heard a voice. Low. Urgent.
"She's bleeding."
"Not enough to kill her. Just drive."
They didn't bandage it. They didn't care.
Just dumped me like a parcel and shut the doors.
And now here I was.
Wrapped in rope. Dried blood crusted along my upper arm. Skin raw from struggling.
