Liana
I woke up to concrete.
The floor beneath me was cold. Damp. The kind of chill that seeped into your skin and never left.
My wrists ached. My throat was dry.
My head was still foggy from whatever they used to knock me out.
But I was awake. And I was alone.
It took a second for my eyes to adjust.
There were no windows. One door. A flickering ceiling bulb. A mattress in the corner, stained.
Panic didn’t hit me all at once. It was slow. Creeping. Like a bruise blooming under the skin.
This wasn’t the first time I’d woken up in a place like this.
Fifteen years old. Ripped from the street. Locked in a room just like this one.
The silence. The helplessness. The way your voice stops working even when you want to scream.
I curled into myself, shaking.
No. Not again. Please. Not again.
And then—
My hand brushed against something cold under my shirt.
The chain. The necklace. The one Elias gave me on my sixteenth birthday. The one with the hidden tracker in the clasp.
My fingers moved before my brain caught up.
I pressed it. Held it. Counted to three.
Please. Please let it work. Let it still work.
Footsteps. Heavy. Fast.
The door flew open.
One of them stormed in, face twisted with suspicion.
“What the hell are you doing?”
I scrambled back, hiding the necklace in my fist. Too late.
He lunged. Wrenched it from my neck so fast the chain snapped.
He stared at it. Then back at me.
“You trying to be clever, bitch? You signal someone? Huh?”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. My voice had died in my throat.
He muttered something under his breath. Cursed. Then turned to the other guy at the door.
“We’re moving. Now.”
They dragged me up, rough hands gripping my arms.
The necklace hit the floor with a dull, metallic sound.
I looked down.
It was the last piece of him I had.
And they left it behind.
