The cold hit me first.
It crept in slowly, seeping through the thin mattress beneath me, sinking deep into my skin, until it settled like ice in my bones. I shivered but could barely move, my body feeling like it was made of lead. My eyelids fluttered open, the world around me a blur of yellow light.
The room was tiny, barely bigger than a closet. A flickering bulb hung overhead, casting a sickly yellow glow that buzzed incessantly, like a constant, nagging reminder that I was trapped. The walls were bare and stained, the air thick and stale, as though it hadn't been disturbed in ages.
I pushed myself up weakly, my hands trembling as I tried to steady myself. Every part of me screamed to move, to escape, but fear had me paralyzed. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think straight.
A creak from the corner caught my attention. My heart skipped. There, sitting in a chair by the door, was a figure. His face was hidden by a smooth, featureless mask, his body still as stone. He didn't speak, didn't move—he simply watched. Waited.
I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. "Where... where am I?" My voice barely broke the silence, hoarse and weak.
No response. Just the faint creak of the chair as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his head tilting slightly. It was as if he was studying me, waiting for something—what, I didn't know.
Tears burned at my eyes, but I blinked them away. I refused to cry. Not yet. Not in front of him.
"You shouldn't have tried to run," he said, his voice low, distorted by the mask. Cold. Unmoved.
My heart twisted painfully. Jason. Where was he? My mind screamed for him. He had to be here. He had to be safe. But the silence around me swallowed that hope whole. He was gone.
The man stood then, his movements deliberate, almost too slow. He crossed the room in three long strides, his boots thudding softly against the floor. Stopping beside the bed, he loomed over me, his presence suffocating, the air thick with tension.
"You're going to answer some questions," he said, his voice unnervingly calm. "You're going to tell me everything you know."
I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, trying to steady myself, to hold on to whatever resolve I had left. When I opened them again, he was still there, watching me with that cold gaze.
"You try to scream," he warned, his voice lowering, turning darker, "and you'll find no one's coming for you. No one can hear you here."
My breath caught in my throat, my heart hammering. I didn't answer. Couldn't. My body was frozen in place. Fear held me captive.
For a moment, he didn't move, just stood there, assessing me, his presence like a weight pressing down on me. It felt like he was deciding whether my silence was worth breaking or if I was just a pawn in a larger game.
Then, his voice dropped, cold and deadly.
"You'll cooperate," he said, each word sharp, deliberate, "or you'll die here."
His words landed like a slap to the face. My breath hitched. This was it. He was serious.
The masked man straightened, unimpressed by my silence. With a final, disinterested glance at me, he turned and walked toward the door. The hinges creaked as he pulled it open. Without another word, he stepped out, leaving the door swinging slightly.
The door slammed shut with a loud, metallic clang. The click of the lock echoed in the silence, and I was left alone with my racing thoughts and a hollow sense of dread settling into my bones.