Gwen woke with a start, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. The ceiling above her was unfamiliar, pale gray, with cracks like veins splitting across its surface. The sheets beneath her were rough, the mattress stiff. She sat upright, blinking rapidly, panic pressing down on her chest. This wasn’t her room. This wasn’t her house.
Her eyes darted around. A single lamp flickered in the corner, everything seemed eerie. There was a chair by the window, its curtains drawn tight. The air smelled faintly of smoke and leather. A shiver ran down her spine.
“What happened?” she whispered, gripping the sheets. And then it hit her, like shards of glass cutting into her memory.
Marcus.
His hand had been on her arm, his voice sharp, his grip unrelenting. He had dragged her, ignoring her
