Damian's consciousness returned slowly, like waking from a nightmare that refused to let go. His head throbbed with a dull, persistent ache that pulsed behind his eyes. The world was dark, barely illuminated by a single weak bulb hanging from the ceiling, casting long, distorted shadows across the concrete floor.
He tried to move, but his wrists were bound tightly behind his back with rough rope that bit into his skin. His ankles were tied to the legs of a metal chair. Panic surged through him as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. He was alone in what looked like a basement or storage room — bare walls, no windows, a single door at the far end. No Zayn. No one.
His heart hammered against his ribs. The last thing he remembered was arriving at Selene's house with Zayn. The strange smell in the air. The hand clamping over his mouth. Then nothing.
"Where's Zayn?" he whispered to the empty room, voice hoarse.
