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Then, darkness swallows everything.

The engine hums quietly, a distant murmur from the trunk’s confines. The car lunges forward, tossing me to one side as it screeches away from the curb.

I try to count, to check myself over like I would anyone else, running through the mental checklist. Breathing, shallow yet there. Heart pounding wildly, a chaotic drumbeat.

Consciousness… slipping away. Like grains of sand in an hourglass I can’t grasp, I’m unable to move.

My mind latches onto a single thought. Not where, not why. Just… who. And beneath it, a certainty lands with the force of a physical blow, a cold dread that seeps into my bones. I’ve been kidnapped.

The car veers wildly, and I catch the sound of tires screeching. I tumble across the carpet, raw heat searing my skin, something sharp digging into my ribs.

I command my arms to move, my fingers to uncurl, anything to respond. But they lie limply against my thighs, refusing to remember their purpose.

I drift into darkness.

I blink awake into silver light and the beep of a hatchback. We’ve stopped.

The drug hasn’t disappeared; it’s just retreated, like a tide pulling back to reveal the terror stranded on the beach. My vision wavers. I squint at the blur ahead until the familiar shape of a face sharpens through the haze.

Morgan.

“Morgan.” My voice comes out like gravel. Like something dragged up from the bottom of a well. “Where?”

“Don’t speak.” Her finger brushes against my lips, gentle but purposeful. Her eyes aren’t on mine, they’re following something behind me. “He has a weapon. Just do as he says.”

I turn my head.

The gun barrel appears from the shadows first, followed by a man rounding the car with deliberate calm.

The pistol aims squarely at Morgan’s spine. The man holding it isn’t watching Morgan at all, he’s already scanning the room beyond her, cataloging exits, checking corners, as if Morgan were an obstacle he’s already cleared.

“Get her out,” he says.

Morgan slides behind me, steady hands pulling me upright. My limbs feel like lead. The world tilts. I clutch the doorframe, fingers disobedient, knuckles white, nails scraping metal.

She gets me sitting, meets my gaze, and whispers, “Think you can stand?”

I’m unsure, but nod.

She wraps my arm around her shoulders, supporting my weight, and we stagger from the car, tangled together.

The air bites. Frozen grass pierces my scrubs like needles. My knees buckle as I stand. Morgan catches me, holds tight. I feel her trembling, her calm betraying her own fear.

The man trails us, more a presence than a sight. Frost crunches softly under his boots, followed by the hushed whisper of a gun ready for action.

I lean into Morgan, my focus narrowing to the only things that matter right now. My words are a ragged murmur against her ear.

“Drugged,” I get out. One word. A whole story. “He took my phone.”

“I know.” Her arm tightens around my waist, infinitesimal. “Stay quiet. Don’t give him a reason to react.”

The barn appears in front of us.

The boards are split, yawning gaps where the wood has pulled apart. A door hangs askew on weary hinges.

The smell hits us halfway: rot, damp earth, and something ancient and cold lurking beneath, forgotten. Our shadows stretch in the car’s headlights, long and twisted, clawing at the barn doors like silent warnings.

Evan’s gun is a hard weight against my back as we step inside. The barn swallows us, and my eyes need a moment to adjust. It’s a different kind of dark, thicker, older, steeped into the walls over time.