Heather woke up to the faint aroma of chicken soup wafting through the room. Her body felt heavy, pleading for rest, but curiosity pulled at her. She sluggishly opened her eyes and blinked at the sharp, unfamiliar surroundings. The clean, polished interiors didn't belong to any place she knew. Was she dreaming? She blinked again, harder this time.
Nope. Not a dream.
She shot upright, her heart pounding. Where am I? she thought frantically. Memories flooded back—the farmhouse, the gas... How had she ended up here? She glanced around the room, her brows furrowing.
The space was nothing like the grimy, dingy hostage rooms she'd acted in movies. This room felt… lively. It had personality. Bright stickers of boy bands adorned one wall, while a shelf was filled with books and a detailed model of a brain. On the opposite wall hung a peculiar portrait of a cow. The strange mix of decor made it feel like three different people designed one space.
