IMOGEN'S POV
My eyes flickered open to the acrid scent of cigarette smoke. The world swam in and out of focus, blurry shapes gradually sharpening into a nightmare.
A man, one of Valentine's henchmen most likely, moved methodically around the room, splashing clear liquid from a red container. The sharp, chemical smell burned my nostrils, cutting through the fog in my brain.
Gasoline.
He was pouring it everywhere. Over the furniture. Over my mother's lifeless body, slumped in the corner. Over me.
The cold liquid splashed against my skin, soaking through my clothes. My limbs felt like they were made of lead, my thoughts sluggish and disjointed. Those pills. What had Elijah forced me to swallow?
I tried to move, to run, to scream, but my body betrayed me, responding with nothing more than a twitch of my fingers. They brushed against the man's pant leg as he doused me again.
"Please," I managed to whisper, the word slurring on my tongue. "I don't want to die."
