Chapter Seventy-Six

Chapter Seventy-Six
“You already know who to blame.”

Dmitri’s words lingered in the darkness between them.

Anika stared at him, but before she could answer, one of the men stepped behind her and dragged a black hood over her head.

The world vanished.

She heard Lizzy curse, followed by the scrape of boots and the sharp rustle of fabric as they covered her too.

A hand clamped around Anika’s upper arm.
“Walk.”
She did.
Not because he ordered her to.
Because fighting now would teach them nothing.

The plastic restraints around her wrists, now bound in front of her, pulled tight enough to bite into swollen skin. Her fingers still moved. Circulation remained intact.

Her ankles were free.
Useful.
She counted each step.
One.
Two.
Three.

The ground beneath her boots was rough and uneven. Gravel, packed hard by tires. Cold air brushed beneath the edge of the hood, carrying the smell of damp earth, diesel, and pine.
They were still outside.

At fifteen steps, the man holding her slowed.
A metallic groan followed.
Large door. Heavy hinges.

Twenty-one.
Her boot struck a raised threshold.
The sound beneath her changed immediately.
Concrete.
Their footsteps echoed, but not far. Narrow corridor or low ceiling.
The air cooled.
Machine oil replaced the smell of pine.
Somewhere to her right, a motor hummed steadily. Not a vehicle. A generator, perhaps, or ventilation equipment.

She kept counting.
Thirty-four steps.
A turn to the left.
The grip on her arm tightened before the turn, warning her half a second in advance. Lizzy’s footsteps remained behind her—slightly uneven, but steady.
Good.

Another eleven steps.
A door opened.
Different sound this time. Smaller. Steel against steel.
They pushed Anika forward.
She stumbled deliberately, letting her shoulder brush the frame.
Thick wall.
Concrete or reinforced masonry.
A hand shoved between her shoulder blades.
She caught herself before falling.

Behind her, Lizzy hit the floor harder.
Anika spun toward the sound, but someone caught the back of her hood pushing her down on her knees.
“Stay down.”
She froze.
Not submission.
Calculation.

The door slammed.
Locks engaged from the other side.
One.
Two.
A heavier mechanical bolt followed.

Only then did Anika pull the hood from her head.
Dim light buzzed overhead.
Lizzy sat several feet away, already tearing hers off with bound hands.

“You okay?” Anika asked.
“I’ve had better hospitality.”
Her voice was strained but clear.

Anika crossed the room and crouched beside her.
The space was small. Perhaps twelve feet by fourteen. Concrete walls. Concrete floor. No windows. A floor drain near the far corner. Exposed conduit ran toward a single fluorescent fixture overhead.
One ventilation grate sat high on the wall.
One camera watched from the opposite corner.
The steel door opened inward.
No visible handle on their side.

Anika turned back to Lizzy.
“Ribs?”
“Bruised. Maybe cracked.”
“Head?”
“Still attached.”

Lizzy’s gaze dropped immediately to Anika’s abdomen.
Neither woman spoke for a moment.
Then Lizzy shifted closer.
“Any cramping?”
“No.”
“Bleeding?”
“Not that I can feel.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
Lizzy’s jaw tightened, but she nodded.

With their wrists still bound, there was little she could examine. She pressed her fingers carefully along Anika’s lower abdomen, watching her expression.
“Pain?”
“No.”
“Dizziness?”
“Not anymore.”
“Nausea?”
“I was drugged, beaten, and transported in the back of a cargo vehicle.”
“So that’s a yes.”
Anika almost smiled.
Almost.

Lizzy sat back against the wall.
“For now, there’s nothing obvious.”
For now.
The words settled heavily between them.

Anika looked toward the camera.
“They’re watching.”
“Let them.”
Lizzy extended her legs, disguising the movement as an attempt to get comfortable while angling her body between Anika and the lens.

Quietly, she asked, “What did you get?”
Anika lowered herself beside her.
“Forty-five steps from the vehicle to this room.”
“I counted forty-seven.”
“You were behind me.”
“And someone introduced my face to the floor.”
“Then forty-five.”
“Show-off.”

Anika ignored her.
“Gravel outside. Pine. Damp soil. We entered through a large metal door, then turned left after roughly thirty feet.”
“Downhill before the turn,” Lizzy added.
Anika looked at her.
“You noticed?”
“My left knee noticed.”
A slight decline, then.
Anika filed it away.

“Generator or ventilation system somewhere to the right of the first corridor.”
“I heard water.”
“Running?”
“Dripping. Slow. Hollow echo.”
Possible underground structure.
Or an old industrial building.

“What about the men?” Anika asked.
“Four during the walk. Maybe five. One behind me, two ahead, one with you.”
“One opened the exterior door.”
“Could have been the fifth.”

Anika leaned her head back against the concrete.
No clocks.
No natural light.
No way to measure time except through sound and their own bodies.
That was deliberate.
“They want us disoriented,” Lizzy murmured.
“Then we don’t give them that.”

Minutes passed.
Or hours.
The overhead light never changed.
No one entered.
No food arrived.
No water.

At first, they heard movement outside the door every few minutes. Boots crossing the corridor. A low exchange of voices. Once, the distant slam of another metal door.

Then nothing.
The silence became its own kind of pressure.
Lizzy shifted beside her.
“How long?”
“Three hours. Maybe four.”
“You sure?”
“No.”
“Comforting.”

Anika studied the door again.
The hinges were visible from inside, but welded pins made removal impossible without tools. The ventilation grate was too narrow for either of them and high enough that reaching it would require standing on someone’s shoulders.
The camera had a limited angle.
There was a blind spot beneath it.
Small, but real.
The floor drain was secured by four screws.
They had no screwdriver.
Yet.

Lizzy followed her gaze.
“Where do we start?”
Anika didn’t answer immediately.
She looked around the room once more, slower this time.
Walls.
Drain.
Camera.
Light.
Vent.
Door.
Every prison had weaknesses.
Every guard had habits.
Every system eventually became predictable.

“We aren’t prisoners yet,” she said.
Lizzy glanced at her.
“What are we?”
“Reconnaissance.”
A tired smile crossed Lizzy’s face.
“I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

Footsteps sounded outside.
Both women went still.
Not one set.
Several.
Measured. Unhurried.
The mechanical bolt disengaged.
Then the second lock.
Then the first.
Anika rose carefully, placing herself slightly in front of Lizzy.
The steel door creaked inward.

Three armed men entered.
And behind them, dressed as impeccably as though he had come from a business meeting rather than a kidnapping, stood Dmitri.
His gaze moved over the room.
Over Lizzy.
Then Anika.
Something almost like approval passed through his expression.
“Still working,” he said.
Anika met his eyes.
“Always.”