Elena POV:
I pushed the heavy door open, the air inside the hallway a few degrees colder than my room. My bare feet made no sound against the wooden floor as I stepped out, the soft fabric of my flare dress swaying with each cautious move I made. The house was too quiet. Unnaturally so. Like the calm before a storm.
And something about that stillness put me on edge.
The last thing I remembered before blacking out was blood. Screaming. Damon's voice, low and terrifying, whispering in my ear. Welcome to hell, sweetheart. I'd woken in a bed that was far too luxurious to belong to a prisoner, yet the cold realization that I was one settled in my bones like frostbite. Still, I had to know what was going on.
The hallway curved and opened into a large corridor. My fingers brushed along the walls as I walked, grounding myself. Paintings hung on the wall—landscapes, wolves, and eyes that seemed to watch me. I kept walking until I spotted her.
