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When Zoya was seventeen, she was shoved roughly into a room, handcuffs digging uncomfortably in her wrists. This was the least she expected, the torture she was about to endure would be ten times worse than this, she should get used to it. It was odd, she had been dragged out of her cell, without so much as a mutter to what was going on, maybe this was her death sentence coming early.
Despite the questions she was itching to let leave her lips, she remained silent and allowed them to drag her past the trapped calls of madness that echoed throughout the decaying walls.
As she looked around the office, she noticed a man sat at the desk in front of her, two men at either side of him, their guns immediately capturing her attention. Beside her there were another two men, holding her in place in case she got any thoughts of bolting through the door. Before she could even think about exiting, the door slammed shut and her attention was brought back to the bleak room. Little to no decoration could be found, other than multiple files that the man had open.
How anyone could work in such a bland space was a mystery to her.
The man himself was in his forties, his eyes tired and yet his expression hard and stern, the kind of look a teacher would wear. He wore a suit that screamed authority and his aura captured her, he was someone of high status. What he wanted with her she didn't know but she assumed there was nothing good to come out it.
