A strong hand whisked the hood off, flooding Sam with crisp air.

Sweet, sweet oxygen.

From behind, she was shoved into a dank, dark room.

A draft swept in from the open-barred window in the cement-block space.

Her sense of freedom was fading, and fast. The door creaked closed, dead bolt sliding in place. The gray walls started crowding in. A raised slab in the corner masqueraded as a bed, with a hole in the opposite corner looking less than inviting. In comparison, the last room had been a mansion.

Sam leaned against the wall, the paper sack she wore catching slightly on the hard slabs.

"Martine?"

The hope in her voice was muffled by the thick walls, reducing it to a pitiful cry.

If Martine was here, there'd be no finding her like this.