Brock’s point of view:
My eyelids fight their way open, heavy as if weighted down by the traces of a fading nightmare. The world swims into focus slowly, and the surreal haze lingers, making me question whether I'm still ensnared in the clutch of a dream. But the harsh reality bites as I feel the coarse bite of knotted ropes— I’m hanging, stark naked, suspended by my wrists from a cold metal ceiling joist. Beneath the ropes, my ankles are cruelly bound, the twine digging deep, slicing into my flesh with every small movement, leaving behind angry gashes and kissing my skin with pain.
A sideways glance reveals my mate to my left, her mouth obstructed, gagged effectively, yet I can tell—it's in the fire of her eyes—she’s hurling silent profanities towards our unseen captors below. Her defia
