the kidnapping

It was nearly 8 PM when Ania Malik stepped out of the small corner grocery store, her hands clutching a simple paper bag—milk, bread, and some apples, though she had no appetite. The air was brisk, the sky painted in hues of steel and ink. The kind of night where shadows moved too freely, where the cold felt sharper than usual.

Her apartment was only a ten-minute walk away, but each step tonight felt heavier. Maybe it was the silence left behind by Meenu and Hanna, her two children who had only just left that morning to pursue their studies abroad. Maybe it was the weight of solitude beginning to settle. Or maybe… it was something else entirely.

She didn’t notice the slow-moving black car parked near the side street. Its windows tinted, its engine silent.

Ania walked down a dim side lane—shorter than the main road, one she’d taken countless times. The streetlamp flickered above her like a dying heartbeat. Her long black coat billowed slightly as the wind picked up, brushing strands of her hair against her face. She brushed them away with one gloved hand, the other still holding the bag close to her chest.

That’s when she heard it.

Footsteps. Quick. Measured. Too close.

Before she could turn, an arm coiled around her waist like a snake. Another hand clamped tightly over her mouth. The grocery bag hit the pavement—apples scattering, a bottle of milk rolling away slowly. Ania struggled, twisting in sheer panic, but her captor was strong, precise. Trained.

She tried to scream, but the cloth pressed against her face smothered every sound. Her knees kicked out. One heel broke. Her heart pounded so hard it made her vision pulse.

A strange, bitter chemical scent filled her nostrils.

Her movements slowed. Her arms felt like stone. Darkness crept into the corners of her vision as her body weakened.

And then—nothing.

---

🕯️ Somewhere Unknown... Hours Later

The room was dim. Concrete walls. No windows. A single overhead bulb cast pale light over Ania’s pale face. Her wrists were bound with coarse rope. Her scarf was gone. Her hair was tangled, falling loosely around her face. The chill in the air sank deep into her bones.

She woke slowly—eyes fluttering open with confusion, fear, and the slow realization that she was not home. Not safe. Not anywhere familiar.

Her breath caught in her throat as she tried to sit up. Pain shot through her shoulder. She winced, scanning the room. A single metal door. No handle on her side.

She had no idea where she was. Or who had taken her. But the silence was suffocating.

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🔥 Elsewhere – Seoul, 11:47 PM

Devrathor sat by the window in his private apartment, scrolling through his phone for the tenth time. No messages from Ania. Nothing since morning.

That was unlike her.

A quiet anxiety crept into his mind—unfamiliar but persistent. He stood up, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair. Something felt wrong. Too quiet. Too delayed.

He called her. No answer. Again. Still nothing.

Without hesitation, he walked toward a locked drawer beneath his desk and pulled it open. A handgun. Black. Cold. Familiar.

He loaded it slowly, methodically.

Then he called a number he hadn’t dialed in years.

A gravelly voice answered. “Who is this?”

“Devrathor,” he said calmly. “Ania’s missing. I need eyes on the city.”

The voice hesitated. “She yours?”

Devrathor’s voice turned steel:

“She’s mine. And if anyone’s touched her… I will turn this city into smoke.”

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