The word came out in a distorted slur as everything flooded back—the meeting with Zane, the fight outside, and being shoved into a waiting van. The last thing I saw before everything went black were the attackers struggling with Darcy and the way she fought with everything she had. I’d tried to reach her and failed. I’d tried to warn her through our connection, but they shot me full of something from a syringe they roughly jabbed into my arm. There was no breaking free. Slipping in and out of awareness, I gave up on trying to overpower my captors and, instead, did everything I could to remember whatever I saw. It didn’t matter if it was the smallest of details—streets, facial features, or the place they pulled up in front of and dragged me into. I needed to conserve my strength because there was no way I was going to let them keep me here. When I made my bid for freedom, I’d be successful.
