Pax's POV
The duct tape ripped away from my mouth, taking what felt like several layers of skin with it. The stinging pain barely registered through the numbness that had already claimed my face.
"Help! Is anybody there? Help us!" My voice cracked as it echoed across the empty field, swallowed by the vast indifference of the abandoned industrial zone.
The temperature had plummeted since Anna Shaw's people had left us here, bound to separate trees like sacrifices to some vengeful god. My thin sweater might as well have been tissue paper against the knife-edge wind that sliced through it.
"Mr. Simpson, what should we do?" I called out, teeth chattering so violently I feared they might crack. No response came from the slender tree where my employer was secured.
"Mr. Simpson? Sir! Can you hear me?"
