Alara woke to silence.
For a moment, she didn't know where she was. The mattress under her was too soft, the pillow cool against her cheek. The air smelled faintly of cedarwood… and something darker, like smoke that had long since faded but never really left.
She turned her head and froze.
The walls weren't hers.
Memory slammed into her all at once — the car, the stranger's eyes, the smooth voice that had ordered her inside. Her stomach dropped.
She sat up quickly, her heart pounding so hard it hurt. The door was still there — tall, dark wood, no handle on her side. She rushed to it, pressing both palms against the surface.
"Hello?!" Her voice echoed back at her. "Let me out!"
Nothing.
She hit the door with her fist, the sound sharp and lonely in the stillness. "Do you hear me? You can't keep me here!"
Somewhere beyond, there was a faint shift, maybe footsteps… but they faded away before reaching her.
Her throat tightened. She spun around, taking in the room properly for the first time.
Everything was perfect. Too perfect. A cream-colored rug without a single mark. A dresser lined with neatly folded clothes she didn't recognize. Heavy curtains that blocked out most of the light.
It was beautiful, but it wasn't hers.
She moved quickly to the window and yanked the curtains open.
Her breath caught.
The city stretched out far below, glittering like spilled jewels. She pressed her palm to the glass. Cold. Solid. Not even the faintest gap where it could open. She had to be at least twenty floors up.
No jumping. No climbing.
She was caged.
A sound behind her made her whip around — the faint click of a lock.
The door opened, and a woman stepped inside. Tall. Straight-backed. Dark hair pulled into a knot so tight it looked like it might hurt. In her hands was a silver tray with a bowl of soup and a slice of bread.
Alara stayed by the window.
The woman placed the tray on a small table by the bed. "Eat."
"I'm not hungry," Alara said, her voice tight. "I just want to leave."
The woman didn't blink. "You should eat. You'll need your strength."
"I don't need strength. I need answers."
Still no reaction.
Alara took a step forward. "Why am I here? Where's the man who brought me?"
The woman's gaze flicked, almost too quickly to notice, toward one of the upper corners of the room. Alara followed her eyes — and saw it.
A small black dome, hardly bigger than her fist.
A camera.
Her skin prickled.
The woman looked back at her. "Eat," she repeated, softer this time. And then she left.
The lock clicked shut again.
Alara's chest rose and fell too fast. She turned in a slow circle, scanning for more cameras. There — another in the opposite corner. And another, barely visible in the ceiling molding.
They were watching her.
She grabbed the soup and slammed it back onto the table so hard some of it spilled.
Then she began searching.
She opened every drawer in the dresser. Empty, except for the neat stacks of clothes. She pulled the sheets from the bed. Nothing underneath but the mattress. She ran her hands along the walls, the edges of the mirror above the dresser, the seams of the curtains.
Nothing.
Every inch of this place had been designed to be escape-proof.
Finally, she sat on the edge of the bed, her fists clenched in her lap. She could feel the cameras on her. Watching. Recording.
She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't let them see her break.
She closed her eyes for a moment, forcing her breathing to slow. Then she whispered to herself, "I'll get out of here. No matter what it takes."
Her voice was barely louder than a breath, but somehow the words seemed to hang in the air.
And then… a sound.
It was faint, distant, but she heard it. A low chuckle, deep and warm — the kind that didn't belong in a place like this.
Her eyes flew open. She scanned the room, but there was no one there.
Just the quiet hum of the ventilation.
And the cameras.
Always the cameras.