The air in the dungeon was thick with the scent of sweat, leather, and something darker—something that made Lisa’s pulse quicken even as her body ached from the restraints. The dim, flickering light of a single bulb cast long shadows across the stone walls, the faint glow barely illuminating the marks already decorating her skin. She hung suspended from the ceiling by thick, unyielding chains, her wrists bound above her head, her ankles spread just wide enough to keep her off-balance. The gag in her mouth, damp with saliva, pressed her lips apart, forcing her to breathe through her nose in shallow, uneven gasps.
Then—footsteps.
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