The abandoned warehouse smelled of rust, dust, and decay.
Claire’s heart hammered against her ribs as she lay on the cold concrete floor, wrists and ankles bound tightly with coarse rope that bit into her skin. The duct tape over her mouth made every panicked breath feel labored. Dim moonlight filtered through the broken windows high above, casting long, eerie shadows across the space filled with old machinery and forgotten crates.
Marcus sat on a metal chair a few feet away, watching her with unnervingly soft eyes. He looked exactly like the quiet boy from her English class — unassuming, average height, messy brown hair, and wire-rimmed glasses. The kind of person you’d pass in the hallway without a second glance.
But there was nothing ordinary about the way he was looking at her now.
