The room was silent except for the sound of my ragged breathing. My wrists and ankles ached from the tight leather straps that held me down. I twisted my head, trying to look around, but with my face pressed against the cool surface of the stretcher, my view was limited.
A sharp click of heels echoed through the room, and I knew she had arrived. My stomach churned, and my pulse quickened as I tried to brace myself for whatever was coming. I couldn’t see her, but I could hear the authority in her steps, the quiet confidence of someone who had no doubt she was in control.
“Turn her over, let me see her face,” she commanded, her voice cutting through the tense air.
The men hesitated. I could feel their discomfort even without seeing their faces.
“She’s already secured,” one of them said,
