Chapter 42 The Clock Is Ticking

• The air was damp, heavy with rust and mildew. Clara’s head throbbed as she stirred awake, the cold bite of metal cutting into her wrists. Her hands were bound tightly behind her, ropes digging into raw skin. Her cheek rested against the gritty concrete floor, a thin trickle of blood running from her temple. The faint hum of distant traffic filtered through the cracked windows above, but the warehouse felt like a hollow, forgotten tomb.
• She pushed herself upright, ignoring the searing pain in her shoulder. Shadows flickered beyond the steel pillars, two men, both masked, their voices low.
• One of them noticed her stirring.