NEMOPHILIST || ej.

【 IV 】

Wake up. Get it together...

Y/N's eyes fluttered open, struggling to focus on the rusty metal chandelier swinging above her. The flickering light was relentless, a harsh glare that pierced through her grogginess like a spotlight on a stage she never auditioned for. Instinctively, she raised a hand to shield her eyes, her movements sluggish as she tried to piece together where she was.

For a moment, she stared at the unfamiliar surroundings, her mind foggy and disoriented. Confusion mingled with the remnants of sleep, casting a hazy veil over her thoughts. But as the fog began to lift, reality hit her like a cold splash of water—this wasn’t her room. She bolted upright, narrowly avoiding a painful collision with the precariously hanging chandelier that looked as if it might come crashing down at any second.

Panic surged through her as she cupped the side of her throbbing head. Her fingers brushed over something crusty on her cheek—dried blood. The sight and the sensation made her inhale sharply, and the reality of her situation began to settle in with a bone-chilling clarity. How did she get here? The last thing she remembered was being in the shower, hearing strange noises, and then... the man in the mask.

Her breath caught in her throat. Mufasa. The image of her kitten’s lifeless body flashed in her mind, and an overwhelming wave of grief and fury surged through her. Her captor had taken him from her—stolen her precious pet’s life. She clenched her fists, forcing herself to focus. She had to figure out where she was and find a way out.

The room was small and bitterly cold, its walls made of stacked logs that suggested she was in some kind of cabin. The air was stale, and she could see her breath forming little clouds in the dim light. Besides the old, worn mattress she had woken up on, the room was bare, save for that damned chandelier.

Her gaze was drawn to the wooden door across the room, marred with scratch marks. She needed to escape. Wherever she was, it clearly wasn’t safe. Whoever had brought her here had already proven themselves capable of unimaginable cruelty. If they could kill her kitten without a second thought, they wouldn’t hesitate to harm her.

She hesitated, taking a few tentative steps toward the door. What if it was unlocked? What if freedom was just beyond it? But then doubt crept in. What if stepping outside meant finding something worse? She had no idea where she was or what dangers lurked beyond these walls. For now, maybe it was safer to stay put.

With a heavy sigh, she sank down to the floor, her back pressed against the side of the mattress. A small window high up on one wall caught her attention, too far for her to reach. She squinted up at it, catching glimpses of snow falling outside. Fantastic. Just fantastic. She was in the middle of nowhere, in nothing but a T-shirt, trapped in a freezing cabin. Her mind raced as she tried to calm herself, pulling her knees to her chest. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she refused to cry. She wouldn’t give her captor the satisfaction.

Her thoughts drifted to her father. He was smart—Chief of Police, always alert to danger. Surely, he would notice when she didn’t return his calls. Surely, his men would be on the case by now. That thought brought her a sliver of comfort. Dad will find me. He has to.

Just as that tiny sliver of hope began to take root, the sound of creaking floorboards tore her from her thoughts. The door groaned open, and her breath hitched. Her captor stood in the doorway.

Y/N instinctively pressed herself against the mattress, her eyes wide with terror. He was tall—abnormally so—towering at least six or seven feet. He wore faded jeans, combat boots, and a dark gray hoodie smeared with what she desperately hoped was ketchup. His shaggy brown hair obscured part of a navy blue mask, and his hands were casually shoved into his pockets. As he slowly tilted his head from side to side, sizing her up, she felt his gaze pierce through the mask.