The scent of damp wool and cheap gasoline filled my nose.

Another pair of hands grabbed my arms, pinning them to my sides.

I struggled, throwing my weight backward, but my feet slipped on the polished floorboards of the shop.

A dark hood was pulled over my head, blotting out the warm light of the atelier.

The last thing I heard was the sound of my own blue silk tearing as they dragged me out into the rain.

***

When the hood was finally yanked off my head, the air was freezing.

I gasped, coughing as the smell of stagnant river water and rusted iron hit my throat.

The floor beneath me was rough, wet concrete.

I was sitting on a rusted metal chair in the center of a vast, high-ceilinged room.

My wrists were pulled behind my back, bound tightly around a thick, vertical iron pipe.

The cold from the metal pipe seeped straight through the fabric of my shirt.

I blinked against the dim, gray light filtering through high, grime-covered windows.

It was a warehouse.