Julian dragged me through the dense, dark woods, his grip a band of steel on my arm. He was stronger than he looked, fueled by a disturbing cocktail of the forbidden herb and his own festering obsession.
“Where are you taking me?” I demanded again, stumbling over a moss-covered log as he hauled me forward.
"Somewhere we can be safe," he panted, his eyes wild and unfocused. "Somewhere we can finally talk, alone. Like we used to be."
A cold dread washed over me as I realized where he was taking us. Through the trees ahead, I could see the silhouette of an old forester's watchtower, a crumbling stone structure on a hill. I'd never been here before, but it looked abandoned—the perfect place for someone to do something terrible without being interrupted.
He finally shoved me into the base of the old watchtower, the air thick with the smell of damp stone and decay. He pushed a heavy, rotting wooden door shut, plunging us into near darkness.
