Darkness wasn't just the absence of light, it was the smell of damp burlap and the taste of salt.
Amara clawed at consciousness, her mind a fractured mirror. When she tried to gasp, her breath hit a wall of coarse fabric. A gag was knotted tight behind her jaw, forcing her tongue back and turning her panicked whimpers into hollow vibrations in her throat. The floor beneath her was cold, oil-slicked concrete that seeped through the sack, chilling her skin.
Then, the silence of the warehouse was punctured by a voice she would know anywhere.
"Oh, I'm so scared, Seb..."
The words were thick with a practiced tremor. Amara froze, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
"Mrs. Creed actually sent someone to hurt me," Elara continued, her voice rising in a pitch-perfect imitation of a survivor. "They tied me... they beat me. If you hadn't come to rescue me and capture one of the men, I wouldn't be here right now."
