Emily's world was a blur of cold metal and muted pain.
The dull hum of an engine thrummed beneath her, a rhythmic pulse that anchored her back to consciousness.
Her wrists ached, bound by restraints, and the lingering sting at her neck told her she'd been drugged.
She forced her eyes open.
The dim lighting revealed a transport vehicle—an armored one.
Steel walls enclosed her, lined with seats where heavily armed soldiers sat in disciplined silence.
Jared was slumped beside her, his wound bandaged but his face pale.
Across from them, a woman watched with unsettling patience.
She was composed, her uniform pristine, marked with no insignia Emily recognized.
Short-cropped silver hair framed sharp, calculating eyes.
She held no weapon, yet the aura of authority around her was suffocating.
Emily met her gaze. "Who the hell are you?"
The woman offered a small smile. "You're quick to recover. That's promising."
Emily yanked against her restraints. "That's not an answer."
