Page 21 of Anton

Panic surged up, tight and sharp, and I bit down hard on my lip to keep from crying out. I couldn’t lose it—not now. I forced myself to breathe, slow and shallow, straining to listen through the silence around me. But I couldn’t hear anything—no voices, no sounds, nothing except an eery stillness.

My head begun to clear.

Anton. He’d been with me. They’d taken us both. We’d been drugged.

Then what happened? Aargh! I couldn’t remember.

My heart hammered in my chest, fear twisting my gut. I struggled to sit, pushing myself up too quickly, and the room spun. A wave of nausea rolled over me—whatever drug they’d used was still messing with my senses, making everything sluggish. My throat was parched, my tongue thick and as rough as sandpaper. I swallowed hard.

Come on, Marcie. Get on your feet. You need to get out of here. Find Anton.

Wherever they’d brought us, and for whatever reason, I couldn’t afford to fall apart. Fighting the urge to scream, I pressed my hands against the cold floor and forced myself upright. Swaying unsteadily, I stood and concentrated on my breathing as I willed the dizziness to pass.

Reaching out blindly, I ran my hands along the walls, searching for anything that might reveal where I was. My fingertips brushed over rough, uneven stone, unyielding beneath my palms. The cold seemed to seep into me, the air damp and heavy. With the dank air, darkness, and silence, a faint shiver ran through me as I realised: this place was underground—isolated, hidden. Thoughts of dungeons and torture bombarded me, nearly bringing me to my knees in fear. Oh god.

“Anton?” I whispered, terror lacing my voice.

Nothing. No response.

The image of his face burned in my mind—how his body had sagged, crumpling as if struck by an invisible blow. I could still see it: the helpless look in his eyes as he went down, my name on his lips. I’d watched him fall, powerless to stop it, before everything went black.

Panic tightened around my chest like a vice. Where was he? Was he hurt? Was he— No. I couldn’t let my thoughts spiral out of control. Anton was strong. Ex-forces, for God’s sake. He’d find a way out. We both would. I had to believe that.

But what if he was too hurt to escape on his own? The thought sent a jolt of urgency through me. I needed to find him. Help him. Except my head was still fuzzy, and I didn’t know where to start.

Okay, Marcie. Think. There has to be a door. They got you in here somehow.

Lowering myself to the floor, I pressed my cheek against the cold stone, searching for a shift in the air—any sign of an opening. There. A faint, cool draft brushed my skin.

Scrambling to my feet, I moved toward the source, hands stretched out in front of me. My fingers found thick wood—solid and heavy. Relief surged as I groped for a handle. Grasping it tightly, I pulled with everything I had, but the door didn’t budge. No matter how hard I tried, it stayed firmly shut.

A frustrated breath escaped me as I sank to the ground, wrapping my arms around my knees. Resting my forehead against them, I closed my eyes and willed myself to stay calm.

Focus, Marcie. Don’t lose it now.

I forced slow, steady breaths, even as the walls seemed to press closer, threatening to crush me. My thoughts began to spiral again, but I shook my head, gripping onto the one thing I could control.

Think. There has to be another way out of here.

Something scraped against the floor. I jolted, every nerve on edge. What was that? My heart hammered in my chest as I strained to listen. Footsteps. Slow, deliberate.

My body stiffened as the sound grew louder, each footfall more distinct, more real. I pressed myself harder into the wall, every muscle coiled, my breath quick and shallow. Whoever was out there, they were getting nearer. The air felt thicker around me, as though the quiet itself was drawing closer.

The door groaned, its hinges protesting under the weight of someone pushing it open. My pulse quickened and I tensed, ready to fight or flee—though neither felt possible in my current state. My eyes scrunched and I winced against the brightness from outside. A shadow filled the doorway, followed by two figures dressed in black, their faces hidden behind masks.

One of them spoke, his voice low and clipped. “On your feet.”

I opened my mouth to protest, to demand answers, but before I could speak, a rough hand grabbed my arm, yanking me forward. My heeled boots scraped against the floor, the sharp sound swallowed by the stillness. Fingers dug into my arm, but I barely registered the discomfort, desperate for answers.

“Where am I? What’s happening?” I demanded, my voice hoarse, more desperate than I intended.

The man who held me by the arm didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he studied me with cold eyes, a faint, cruel smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

My heart pounded. “What about Anton? Where is he? Is he?—”

“Anton?” The other man chuckled darkly, a sound that sent a shiver down my spine. “He’s not your concern right now.”

I was pulled farther from the room, each step echoing off the stone walls, my head spinning. “Tell me what’s going on. Why are you doing this?”

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