WILLOW
Where am I?
The thought drifted through the haze as my eyes fluttered open. The ceiling staring back at me was wrong, smooth, stark white, nothing like the familiar cracked plaster and exposed beams of my bedroom. I blinked hard, closed my eyes, then opened them again, letting the dim light settle.
Still wrong.
My gaze darted sideways. A sleek nightstand stood there—empty except for a single glass of water. No ring light. No soft lavender walls. The room was cold, the air conditioner humming quietly, even though I distinctly remembered turning it off before bed.
My pulse kicked up.
I tried to sit up—and froze.
The biggest red flag slammed into me like ice water.
My wrists were cuffed above my head, soft leather-lined metal biting just enough to remind me they weren’t going a
