Rosita woke slowly, her eyelids heavy, a dull ache pounding at the back of her head. Her breath hitched as she tried to lift her hands—only to feel the sharp bite of rope digging into her wrists. Her legs were bound as well, tied at the ankles, and she was seated on a cold metal chair in a dimly lit warehouse.

Concrete walls. One flickering overhead light. The smell of dust and old oil.

Panic surged through her chest.

“Hello?” she shouted shakily. “Is— is anyone here? Let me go! Do ...