A soft thump echoed behind me.
I froze.
The door.
Had I imagined it?
Slowly, I stepped back and pressed my ear against the wood. Muffled voices. Faint but unmistakable. My heart pounded against my ribs as I reached for the handle.
Locked.
Panic twisted in my chest. Someone had locked the door from the outside.
The air was thick with damp wood and something… rotten. Breathing felt like swallowing dust.
I wasn't alone.
A slow chill crept up my spine.
"Who's there?" My voice barely rose above a whisper.
Silence.
"Hello?"
Nothing.
"Anyone?"
Only my own breathing answered me.
I turned toward the door, ready to leave—
Thump.
Louder this time.
I spun around. The sound had come from inside the room.
Urgent whispers tangled in desperation.
I didn't stop to think. I shoved the door open and stepped inside.
---
The air was colder here. Dark. Suffocating.
"Please, who's there?" I forced out.
No response.
"Speak up, or else—" My hand brushed against something cold and solid on the ground—an iron rod. I gripped it tightly.
A weapon.
I took another cautious step. My fingers found a switch on the wall.
I flipped it on.
The weak light flickered. My stomach lurched.
A woman sat hunched over on the floor, her left hand pressed against a teenage boy's bloody neck, her right hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her sobs.
A man stood in the corner, arms crossed, face eerily blank—emotionless.
I staggered backward, slamming into a stack of rusted boxes.
The boy's throat was slit open. Blood pooled beneath him, soaking his clothes and the floor in deep crimson.
The mother rocked his limp body, whispering words I couldn't hear.
The smell of iron and decay coated my tongue.
"Oh my God..." I barely managed to whisper.
The room was small, cramped, the walls smeared in sickening shades of red and brown, splattered with pink and black dots.
Everything about this place felt wrong.
Yet, my gaze was drawn back to the woman.
She was trembling. Pale. Lips moving in silent pleas.
She suddenly lunged forward, gripping my ankle so tightly that her nails dug into my skin.
"Please don't take him away!" she sobbed, pressing her forehead to my leg.
"What?" My breath hitched.
"He's not dead!" Her voice cracked. "He knows he can't leave me. He knows it! Please! Help me tell him—"
I pried her hands off me, wincing as her nails tore my skin.
"I won't take him," I swallowed the lump in my throat. "And I won't harm anyone, I promise."
Her wild eyes searched my face, desperate for reassurance.
"If you had taken him to the hospital, he might have survived," I murmured.
"He's alive!" she screamed, clutching the boy's lifeless body even tighter.
Denial. I knew it when I saw it.
I turned to the man in the corner. He hadn't moved since I stepped in.
"You should have taken him somewhere—"
He let out a hollow chuckle.
"We tried."
Two words. But in them, I heard twelve years of suffering.
I stared at him, horrified.
"How long have you been here?" I asked.
"Twelve years."
He smiled—like it was some inside joke only he understood.
Twelve years?
Not twelve hours. Not twelve days. Twelve years in this rotting place?
My mouth felt dry. I wanted to ask more, wanted to know who had trapped them here—but I never got the chance.
A voice, cold and sharp, sliced through the air.
"We are they."
I whipped around.
Four hefty men stood at the entrance.
Black caps. Shades. Face masks.
Their presence sucked the air from the room.
The leader stepped forward. His posture was confident. Menacing.
"Pack that thing up. Let's move."
His voice.
Familiar. Too familiar.
My blood turned to ice as the men behind him obeyed, dragging the boy's body from his mother's grasp.
She screamed. Clawed at them. Begged.
"Let's go," the leader ordered.
The mother snapped. She lunged—sinking her teeth into one man's leg.
He roared in anger, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and—
Slammed her skull against the wall.
Once.
Twice.
Again and again.
Until she stopped moving.
"No!" The father surged forward. Two men grabbed him, shoving him to his knees.
His breathing was ragged. His eyes wide with despair.
Then he turned to me.
"Help me," he whispered. "Please. They might listen to you."
I couldn't move.
Couldn't speak.
The leader smirked.
"Relax," he said smoothly. "She's one of us."
The father's face crumbled.
"Me?" I barely whispered. "What are you talking about?"
The leader ignored me. He gripped the father's jaw, forcing him to look up.
"Agreed?" His voice dripped with mockery.
The father's jaw clenched.
"Never."
Bang.
The shot rang out.
The father collapsed. Blood pooled beneath him.
I couldn't breathe.
Couldn't think.
I turned, my gaze locking onto the leader's face.
And in that moment—
I recognized him.