Away from the cold grandeur of the Dominick mansion, Prudence's eyes fluttered open once more to a rusty, unkempt place. The haze of unconsciousness had finally lifted, her thoughts clearing like the mist after dawn. Though her mind felt less heavy, the dull, blooming ache on her neck reminded her that she had not awakened from a dream, but into a nightmare.
She winced, attempting to sit upright, when suddenly a coarse arm coiled around her from behind, gripping her waist tightly.
"See, she is up now," said a man's voice, amused, like he'd merely been watching a sleeping pet stir.
Prudence's gaze swept across the unfamiliar room—a decrepit structure reeking of rusty bars, bricks, dust, and mold. The air was stale like no life had lingered here in forever. She was no longer in the comfort of Vincent's mansion. No, she was in the clutches of men who bore no names, only ill intent.
The man at her back tugged her closer, his touch lewd, fingers trailing along her waist. She recoiled.
