Chapter 12 In The Enemy's Clutches

• The minutes bled away like water from a broken dam. Every tick of the clock inside the damp warehouse felt like a countdown to a funeral.
• Sienna pulled against the silver-lined chains again, ignoring the sharp, burning heat that blistered her wrists. She scanned the room, desperate to find a weakness in Enzo's layout. The mercenaries had taken high-ground positions on the rusty catwalks above, their silver-loaded rifles trained directly on the only entrance. The air grew heavier, thick with a bitter, chemical scent that made her lungs burn. Wolfsbane vapor.
• Enzo stood near a stack of shipping crates, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he checked his watch. "Five minutes left. Your dog is running out of time, Sienna."