Chapter 46 up
The crash of a metal door being slammed open shattered the silence, dragging Nyla out of the thin border between consciousness and blackout. The vibration traveled through the floor, up the chain around her ankle, into bones that felt increasingly fragile. Her eyes opened slowly—heavy, burning—as though every blink demanded courage.
The darkness was the same.
But tonight was different.
There was panic in the air.
“Move! We’re relocating now!” a man’s voice snapped, broken by hurried breaths.
“The location’s been sniffed out,” another replied roughly. “Orders are clear. Don’t take risks.”
The word sniffed out struck Nyla harder than the pain in her body. Her heart pounded, forcing blood to rush faster. Someone was looking for her. The thought was a tiny spark in the dark—fragile, yet enough to keep her alive.
The door swung open. A flashlight’s glare stabbed her vision, forcing her to squeeze her eyes shut. When she opened them again, two figures stood in the doorway, faces tight, jaws clenched. Without a word, one of them stepped forward and crouched, yanking the chain free from the floor hook in a rush of movement. The clash of metal was deafening.
“Get up,” he ordered.
Nyla tried to stand. Her legs trembled violently. The world spun; the floor seemed to fall away. She would have collapsed if a rough hand hadn’t seized her arm and hauled her upright. Pain shot from her ankle up her spine, piercing her chest. She swallowed a groan, biting her lip until she tasted salt.
“Don’t waste time,” the other muttered. “We don’t have it.”
They dragged her outside. The night air stabbed her skin, colder than the dark room that had held her for so long. The stench of gasoline, dust, and rusted iron mixed together, making her head swim. Somewhere ahead, an engine roared to life. Nyla forced her eyes wide, recording everything she could—the peeling warehouse walls, the abandoned metal door, the corner where the cracked floor formed a long jagged line.
Remember, she told herself. Miss nothing.
As she stumbled along, her hand brushed the torn side of her shirt. The fabric felt thinner than ever. She checked the small inner pocket—empty. Her phone had been taken long ago. But tucked behind the band of her bra, she still hid one nearly meaningless thing: a worn-out hair ribbon, a remnant from days when her life had been simple.
A clue, she thought. No matter how small.
As they passed the warehouse corner, Nyla deliberately slowed, pretending to stumble. Her foot nudged a stone. Her body lurched.
“Ouch—sorry,” she murmured, forcing weakness into her voice.
One of the men cursed and shoved her forward. In that split second, Nyla let the small ribbon slip free, allowing it to fall behind a rusted iron wheel. Her heart hammered. She didn’t look back. She couldn’t. She just kept moving, leaving behind the small hope she had planted in the cold ground.
The car door opened. She was shoved into the back seat. The door slammed. The engine growled, and the car lurched forward. Nyla’s body was thrown side to side; her head knocked against the seatback. Every pothole felt like a blow. Her vision blurred, but she forced herself to stay conscious.
“Why move now?” the driver asked, uneasy.
“The boss is panicking,” the man in the front seat replied. “That name’s already being mentioned.”
Nyla held her breath.
“Sel—”
“—ena,” he finished quietly, as if afraid the car itself might hear.
That name.
Selena.
Nyla’s chest tightened. Hot tears welled, but she swallowed them back. There was no room to break—not now. She had to conserve her strength.
The car turned sharply. City lights faded, replaced by thick, unbroken darkness. Nyla tried to count the turns—one long, one short, a brief stop, then forward again. She noted the changing smells: gasoline to wet earth, dust to grass. The outskirts of the city—or farther.
Her body grew weaker. Her throat burned with dryness. Every breath felt heavy. She closed her eyes for a moment, then forced them open again with effort.
Don’t sleep. Don’t give up.
The car stopped abruptly. A door opened. Cold air rushed in. Nyla was dragged out, rougher this time. Her legs barely held her. Ahead stood a small building under a dim light—a vacant house or another warehouse. The old wooden door looked rotten with age.
“Hurry,” one of them urged. “Before anyone follows.”
Nyla staggered forward. As she crossed the threshold, her arm scraped against a protruding nail. Her shirt snagged, tearing wider. Pain flared, but she made no sound. With a movement almost invisible, she tore off a small strip of the fabric and let it fall into the dark corner near the door.
Second trail.
Inside, stale air closed in. The smell of mold and old wood filled her lungs. They shoved her into a chair and bound her again—this time tighter. Her wrists throbbed. Nyla winced, but her eyes worked fast: the door’s position, a small window boarded shut, a sliver of light leaking through the roof. Outside, crickets chirred back and forth. The night deepened.
“Listen,” one of the kidnappers said, his voice low. “If you try anything, we won’t hesitate.”
Nyla nodded faintly. “I understand.”
The door closed. A key turned. Footsteps faded away. Silence swallowed the space again.
Nyla leaned back, breathing hard. Her body shook—not just from the cold, but from a tension that refused to leave. She closed her eyes, steadying her breath. In her mind, she replayed the small map she had built: the ribbon in the old warehouse, the fabric by the door, the smell of wet earth, the long turn.
If they’re looking for me… they’ll see it.
Faces flickered through her thoughts. Vincent, with his steady calm. Clark, with regret that had come too late. She didn’t know who would arrive first. She knew only one thing: she had to survive long enough.
Nyla opened her eyes, staring into the dark. Her lips moved soundlessly—a small vow born of pain and a thin but stubborn hope.
If this is the end, she whispered to herself, then at least the truth will hunt them down.