Darkness clung to Opal like a second skin, thick and suffocating, pressing against her from all sides. But she wasn't asleep. No, she was aware—painfully, terrifyingly aware. Every nerve in her body screamed in protest, her limbs heavy and cold as if she had been submerged in ice.
Iron bit into her wrists and ankles, the metal manacles cutting into her flesh. She could feel the sharp edges pressing against her skin, an unrelenting reminder of her captivity. The sterile scent of antiseptic burned her nose, but beneath it lurked something worse—something rancid, decayed, wrong. The air was thick with it, like death lurking just out of sight.
The slow, rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor filled the silence. A quiet hum of machines accompanied it, their steady drone masking the quiet whispers of movement.
But it wasn't the sounds that unnerved her.
It was the presence.
Two figures.
