Bound to the enemy

Syrena

The baseball bat slipped in my hands.

Not because of the rain.

Because of the sweat.

I stared at the dark smear across the metal for half a second too long before wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans. My fingers were shaking so badly I almost dropped it.

Breathe, Syrena.

The alley smelled like wet asphalt, cigarettes, and rotting garbage. Rain hammered against the dumpsters hard enough to drown out the sound of my heartbeat- almost. My pulse still crashed in my ears like a warning siren.

Three days.

Leo had been missing for three goddamn days.

No texts. No calls.

Just one voicemail sent at 2:14 a.m., his voice wrecked and terrified.

“Rena… I messed up. Don’t look for me. Please.”

Then silence.

And now I was crouched behind a dumpster at midnight with a stolen baseball bat and enough adrenaline in my bloodstream to kill a horse.

The black sedan idled at the end of the alley, headlights cutting through the rain like knives. Expensive car. Tinted windows. Engine still running.

Not normal.

Nothing about the past week had been normal.

The driver’s door opened.

A man stepped out wearing a dark hoodie pulled low over his face. Tall. Broad shoulders. Same height as Leo.

Hope punched the air out of my lungs so fast it hurt.

Leo.

My grip tightened around the bat.

The man turned away from me, reaching into the backseat for something.

Move.

Now.

Before your courage disappears.

I ran.

My boots splashed through puddles as I lunged forward, raising the bat with both hands. At the last second my foot slipped on the wet pavement, but desperation carried the swing through anyway. He turned around hearing me approach and

CRACK.

The sound echoed down the alley.

The man collapsed instantly.

“Oh my God-”

The bat clattered from my hands.

“Leo!” I dropped to my knees beside him, grabbing his shoulders. “Leo, wake up- we have to go, come on- ”

No response.

Panic exploded through me.

I looked wildly around the empty street. No witnesses. No sirens. Just rain pouring from the sky like the world was trying to wash this whole night away.

I had to move.

Now.

Using every ounce of strength and adrenaline I had left, I dragged him across the alley toward my neighbor’s rusted van. His body was heavier than I expected- solid muscle and dead weight.

I shoved him into the back of the van and slammed the doors shut.

Then I drove.

Like a maniac.

Every pair of headlights behind me looked like a hitman. Every red light felt like a death sentence. My hands were welded to the steering wheel, my chest so tight I thought I might throw up.

I didn’t stop until I reached the abandoned garage behind my apartment building.

The garage smelled like dust, gasoline, and mildew. The single ceiling bulb flickered weakly overhead while rain rattled against the rusted roof.

It took twenty minutes to drag him inside.

Another ten to get him tied to the chair.

Heavy-duty zip ties around his wrists.

More around his ankles.

I stumbled backward, breathing hard.

“Leo?” I whispered again.

Please.

Please let it be you.

The man’s head hung forward beneath the hood, motionless.

Slowly, trembling, I stepped closer.

Then I grabbed the hood and yanked it back.

Everything inside me stopped.

Wrong.

Wrong wrong wrong

The hair was black. Thick and dark and damp with rain.

Not Leo’s sandy blond.

And when his head lifted, his eyes snapped open.

Grey.

Not normal grey.

Cold silver-grey. Sharp enough to cut skin.

For one terrifying second, neither of us moved.

Then he smiled.

Not confused.

Not scared.

Amused.

“You,” he said hoarsely, voice rough as gravel, “are definitely not one of Mysis’s people.”

Ice flooded my veins.

I stumbled backward until my spine slammed against the brick wall.

“Who are you?” I whispered.

The man leaned forward against the restraints, blood sliding down the side of his face.

Who are you?” I whispered.

The man leaned forward slowly against the restraints, blood sliding down the side of his face.

And somehow, even zip-tied to a chair in a filthy garage, he still looked dangerous.

His silver-grey eyes flicked around the room once before settling back on me.

Then he smiled.

Lazy. Amused.

“I was taught not to talk to strangers,” he said hoarsely. His gaze dropped to the zip ties digging into his wrists. “Especially the ones who hit me with baseball bats and throw me into vans.”

I stared at him.

“What?”

“Although,” he continued thoughtfully, testing one of the restraints, “usually people buy me dinner before kidnapping me. So this is new.”

Was he—

Was he making jokes right now?

My pulse spiked.

“You’re tied to a chair!”

“Yes,” he said. “Very observant. Head injury aside, I think we’re both handling this remarkably well.”

I tightened my grip on the bat still lying near my feet.

“Stop talking like this is normal!”

That finally got a real reaction out of him. A short laugh escaped him before he winced slightly, probably from the concussion I gave him.

“Trust me,” he said, lifting his head again, “if this were normal, you’d already be dead.”

The humor vanished from the room instantly.

Outside, tires screeched somewhere in the distance.

His expression changed.

Not panic.

Recognition.

His eyes snapped toward the garage door, every muscle in his body going tense.

Then he looked back at me.

“Untie me,” he said quietly.

The calmness in his voice scared me more than shouting would have.

“Now.”