CHAPTER 20: SHADOWS OF THE UNKNOWN

The air was thick and suffocating, the damp wood beneath Lauren's hands a cruel reminder of her captivity. She woke with a start, every muscle in her body aching, her chest tight from the claustrophobia that had settled over her like a heavy blanket. The darkness that surrounded her was not complete, but it was enough to obscure everything except the outlines of the crude crate that imprisoned her. Her head throbbed, each heartbeat pulsing painfully in her temples, and her limbs felt like lead. She hadn't the strength to move—only to breathe, to listen, to wait. Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out the faint hum of distant voices, yet she could still hear the scrape of something wooden shifting.

They were close.

Her throat burned with the dry ache of thirst, and her stomach growled in hollow protest. How long had it been since she last ate? Her mind struggled to piece together the fragments of what had happened before she found herself here—her last memory was the cold, unfeeling hands that dragged her away from the safety of the forest, the stench of unfamiliar sweat and the harshness of a rope tightening around her wrists.

Her skin prickled as though every fiber of her being screamed for escape. She tried to shift, but the crate was too small—her limbs twisted in uncomfortable angles as she finally braced herself against the sides, testing the limits of her prison.

Where am I?

Her mind raced as she heard the distant, unintelligible murmur of voices. They were speaking a language she didn't understand, one laced with sharp consonants and harsh tones. They were close, but not close enough to touch her. The silence between their words was as sharp as a blade, as if they were trying to understand her or, perhaps, gauge her reaction.

Her fingers trembled against the rough wood, and she bit down on the instinct to call out. There was no point. Her captors had made it clear that they wouldn't answer any of her questions—if they understood her at all. She pressed her ear against the splintered side of the crate, trying to catch a fragment of something that might give her an advantage.

A low, throaty laugh split the silence. She froze, her body stiffening with tension. The laughter came from the far side of the room, a sound too foreign to decipher, yet full of some dark amusement. The echoes of footsteps followed. Something heavy scraped along the stone floor, followed by a deep grunt.

Lauren clenched her jaw. She needed to know more. She needed to understand the danger she was in.

The door to the room creaked open with a heavy, metallic groan. Lauren's breath caught in her throat as she strained to see through the gaps between the slats of the crate. The air grew colder, sharper, as though something dark had entered the room. She could hear the rhythmic footsteps approach her, the soft hiss of breath on the other side of the crate. Her pulse quickened, and her mind screamed at her to do something, anything—but she remained frozen, unwilling to make a sound.

A figure appeared in her line of sight, tall and broad-shouldered, their movements deliberate, unhurried. The shadows obscured their features, but Lauren could feel the weight of their gaze even though she could not see their eyes. It was a person, but something about them seemed unnatural, as though they existed on the edge of the real and the imagined.

"Is she awake?" The voice was low and guttural, a rasp that seemed to reverberate in the still air.

Another voice answered, sharp and precise, "No, she is not. But she will be soon enough."

The first voice let out a low chuckle. "Good. Let her wonder a little longer."

Lauren's stomach twisted at their words. They were speaking about her like she was nothing more than an object, a thing to be handled, contained, manipulated. Her heart pounded faster, a fire igniting in her chest as anger began to claw its way through the fear.

She was no one's prisoner.

But how could she escape? The fear of the unknown was stronger than the fire in her heart, and she couldn't risk acting too soon.

Footsteps moved away from her, fading into the distance, but Lauren didn't dare let herself relax. She could feel the eyes of the captors on her, as though they knew she was awake, aware of the danger surrounding her. The air in the room felt thick with their anticipation, their watchful gazes seeping through the walls of her crate.

The voices fell silent again, and the room seemed to press closer, the darkness becoming heavier with each passing second. The silence stretched on, almost suffocating, until a soft scraping sound made Lauren tense again.

Someone was coming.

Through the slats, she caught sight of another figure—slighter than the others, moving with more grace than strength. This one didn't speak in the harsh language of the captors. Instead, the words were softer, almost kind in their tone. They didn't seem to be one of the captors, but neither did they seem like someone who would want to help her. She couldn't be sure.

This figure knelt down by her crate, just out of reach, and there was a long, almost painful pause before a voice spoke again—this one in a language that was familiar, though not entirely comforting.

"You are not where you think you are."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning.

Lauren's heart skipped a beat. She wanted to speak, to ask what they meant, but fear locked her tongue. Was this a trick? Was this person toying with her, or was there something more to their words?

"You're not from here, are you?" the voice continued, softer now. "I know what you are. I know why they brought you here."

Lauren's breath hitched. A sharp prickle ran down her spine, and the eerie quiet seemed to stretch on forever. The shadows around her grew deeper, and she felt a sense of isolation creeping in, pushing her further into the darkness of the unknown.

The figure reached for the crate, their hand brushing lightly against the slats, almost as if offering comfort—or perhaps an unspoken warning.

"They want you for what you carry inside," the voice whispered, barely audible. "But you don't belong to them. Not yet."

Then, with a final soft rustle, the figure moved away, their steps light and cautious.

Lauren's breath slowed, her heart still thundering in her chest. The words echoed in her mind, filling her with a mixture of confusion and dread.

What did they mean? What did she carry inside?

And why had they taken her?

The shadows pressed in closer, the silence heavy and unbroken. But there, in the stillness, a flicker of hope burned within her—a spark that she refused to let die. She would find a way out. She had to. She wasn't meant to be their prisoner. Not now. Not ever.