VIOLET – POV
The ropes cut into my wrists.
Rough, coarse strands bound so tight I could barely feel my hands anymore. My ankles were tied too, though loosely enough to let me walk if I was forced to. Which, judging by the bruises blooming down my ribs and the copper taste in my mouth, wouldn't be out of the question.
The rogues didn't care about comfort.
I was inside what looked like an abandoned hunter's cabin deep in the forest. The walls were made of rot-softened wood, patched with rusted metal sheets and holes large enough to see the trees swaying outside. A single lantern swung from a crooked nail in the ceiling, casting flickering shadows that danced across the room like ghosts.
I didn't know how long I'd been out.
But the sun was lower than I remembered, and my head throbbed like someone had slammed it with a rock.
Probably because they had.
