I woke up slowly, my mind foggy and head throbbing like a bad hangover.
Consciousness trickled back bit by bit, but when I tried to open my eyes, nothing happened—thick cloth pressed tight over them, knotted hard at the back of my head, blocking every bit of light.
A blindfold.
Panic bubbled, but worse was my mouth—a rough strip of fabric gagged me deep, pulled so taut it dug into the corners of my lips, forcing my jaw wide and aching.
The cloth—coarse cotton, tasting bitter like old sweat and chemicals—wadded thick between my teeth, muffling my tongue flat, drool pooling sticky at the edges where it rubbed raw.
I could only breathe shallow through my nose, each inhale ragged, the knot behind my neck unyielding when I tested it with weak head shakes.
My hands were bound tight behind my back, wrists crossed and roped with scratchy cord biting skin, elbows nearly touching from the strain.
