The room burned red, a ruthless glow that stripped away shadow and mercy alike. At its center waited a single chair, bolted to the floor like an accusation, and bound to it was Delilah.
A blindfold crushed her vision into nothingness, her wrists and ankles locked so tight the restraints bit into her bone.
The metal beneath her was ice-cold, leeching heat from her skin, reminding her how thin the line was between living and breaking.
There was no comfort here. No softness. Even the air felt hostile.
Each breath scraped her lungs raw. The altitude thinned the oxygen to a cruel ratio, forcing her to choose between slow suffocation or desperate gulps that sent her head spinning.
Her chest burned. Her pulse thundered in her ears, loud enough to drown out her thoughts. Panic hovered close, waiting, because she knew this place didn't need blades or fire to kill her.
