CLAUDE
FUCK. MY HEAD HURTS.
I tried to force my eyes open, but no matter how hard I blinked, everything stayed dark, and that’s when it hit me. I was blindfolded.
No. No. No.
How did this happen? How did I end up here?
A snarl clawed up my throat as I jerked forward, but the pull of metal—biting, burning—stopped me cold. My arms were stretched above me, bound tightly with silver. I could smell it, taste its acrid sting in the back of my throat.
No.
I yanked harder, muscles straining, breath heaving. The scent of damp stone and rust filled my lungs. The sound of water dripping from somewhere above was too familiar. The chains rattling over my head, too familiar. And the sound of boots—heavy, slow on concrete—hitting the ground, too f*****g familiar.
No. No. No.
My body jerked
