Twenty-four hours earlier...

Seraphina sat chained to a metal chair under a bare bulb, its harsh light casting shadows across the concrete floor of the warehouse. Her wrists burned where the zip ties had cut into her skin, and a bruise throbbed on her cheek from the scuffle in the van.

The air was damp and heavy with the stench of rust and old fish, but she kept her spine straight, her blue eyes locked on the two men pacing in front of her. Morello stood by a crate, his slick smile gone, replaced by a cold calculation. The other, a hulking goon with a shaved head and a knife...