Y/n's head lolls forward, chin touching chest. The world swims in and out of focus—a concrete floor, cracked and stained. Bare bulbs flickering overhead, casting long, jumping shadows across the walls.

Rope. Coarse and biting against the wrists, the ankles. Tight enough to leave red grooves in the skin when Y/n tests it, shifting in the chair. Old wood groans beneath the weight.

A figure moves at the edge of the dim light. Tall, silhouetted against the distant hallway. Then another shape, seated low to the ground, fingers tapping against a knee in a restless rhythm.