TRIGGER WARNING!!!

This content includes themes that may be distressing or emotionally challenging, such as TRAUMA, VIOLENCE, LOSS, R*PE, and HUMAN TRAFF*CKING. Discretion is advised. Please take care while reading and feel free to pause or stop away if needed...

“This is exactly why I can’t be trusted with boredom,” I mutter, admiring the majestic pyramid of cans I’ve just created—honestly, it deserves its own museum.

“I told you to keep them on the shelves!!!” my boss yells from behind, nearly giving me a heart attack.

“I’m… putting them back, sir! Right now!” I say, already dismantling my masterpiece at lightning speed.

Tragic.

It looks way better like this than on those boring shelves. But what do I know? I’m just a humble supermarket employee, not a misunderstood artist...

I put every can back on the shelves myself. Every. Single. One. Because apparently, I’m not just an employee—I’m a one-person restocking machine.

It’s late again.

Shocking.

Truly.

groundbreaking.

I glance outside and spot my boss casually smoking, like he didn’t just yell his lungs out five minutes ago. My bangs fall into my eyes as I stare at his back, trying to summon laser vision through pure irritation. Still not working.

Disappointing.

I could really go for one too. You know, for stress relief. Or character development.

I look back at the shelves.

Everything is neat.

Perfect.

Beautifully aligned.

And about as exciting as watching paint dry.

Life is just… aggressively boring. Like, wow. Round of applause.

Truly living the dream here.

My attention snaps to the entrance when a man dressed entirely in black walks in—like he just stepped out of a low-budget action movie.

He comes straight up to me, slips a card into my hand—

—and walks away. Just like that.

No “hello.” No explanation. Not even a dramatic pause.

I stare after him.

“…Okay.”

I look down at the card. Black. Of course it’s black. Because we’re clearly going for mysterious and slightly illegal.

There’s only one word on it:

.ETERNAL.

Right. That definitely clears everything up.

I stare at his back as he walks away—because clearly, if I stare hard enough, the universe will hand me answers on a silver platter.

Later that night, after my shift, I walk home, still thinking about Mr. Silent Entrance, Dramatic Exit, who slips me a card like I’m supposed to applaud the mystery.

No warning, no explanation—just a tiny piece of paper and a whole lot of audacity.

I mean, I’ve been alive for over a thousand years. I’ve seen empires rise and fall, people do unbelievably stupid things… and yet somehow, this still manages to confuse me.

And make me think 'WHAT THE FUCK'

Impressive.

I’m so lost in my thoughts I barely notice where I’m going. Honestly, if something jumps out at me right now, I might just nod and accept it. Seems on brand for today...

Content Warning: This chapter includes themes of kidnapping, restraint, and distressing situations. Reader discretion advised...

---I’m walking, completely absorbed in my own thoughts—because clearly, nothing bad has ever happened to someone wandering alone at night. My only companions? The dramatic chorus of crickets, frogs, and whatever else thinks it owns the roadside.

I keep walking, not paying attention—brilliant decision, really. Then—

Bang.

A massive hand slaps over my face out of nowhere.

I struggle, kicking at the air like that’s going to solve anything, arms flailing in what can only be described as deeply embarrassing.

Honestly, for someone who’s survived over a thousand years… this is not my finest moment.

Someone decides my eyes are optional and ties a black blindfold around them—how thoughtful. Before I can fully process my excellent life choices, I’m lifted off the ground like I weigh nothing. Fantastic. Love that for me.

A few seconds later—

Thud.

I land somewhere hard. Judging by the smell and the echo… a car trunk. Classic. Kidnapping 101. At least they’re sticking to tradition.

Whoever’s doing this clearly knows what they’re doing. My hands are yanked behind my back and tied—tight enough to hurt. Then comes a sharp sting in my wrist. Injection. Anesthesia, probably. Because why not add a medical procedure to the evening?

The world tilts.

My head goes light.

Just before everything fades out, I hear another thud—the trunk slamming shut.

And then there’s this strange, floating euphoria spreading through my veins.

Great. Kidnapped and drugged.

Honestly… after a thousand years, you’d think I’d have learned to avoid this kind of situation?

NO.

…And then I’m out.

I wake up when the car hits a speed bump.

Fantastic.

“Ouch!” I try to say—but it comes out muffled, thanks to the lovely piece of cloth stuffed in my mouth. Really, they’ve thought of everything.

Hospitality at its finest.

My head throbs as I lie there, crammed into the trunk like misplaced luggage. Ten—maybe eleven—minutes pass. Hard to tell when you’re drugged, kidnapped, and apparently on a scenic night drive.

Then the car slows. Finally. It comes to a stop with a slight jolt.

I hear voices outside—low, serious. Important, probably. Not that it matters, because I can’t make out a single word. Of course I can’t. I’m in a hecking trunk.

Honestly, for someone who’s lived over a thousand years, my current life choices are… questionable at best.

I stay perfectly still when I hear the trunk unlock. The lid creaks open, letting in a sliver of light.

“Drop the act.”

A male voice. Flat. Unimpressed.

Oh, great. We’ve reached the interrogation phase.

Like hell I’m about to sit up and smile for them. What do they expect-

gratitude? Applause?

I stay exactly where I am. Because if they think I’m going to make this easy, they clearly picked the wrong thousand-year-old problem.

Honestly…the audacity.

“Get her up,” a man says, impatience bleeding into every word.And with that, they haul me out of the trunk and force me onto my feet.

As I finally get to my feet, dust fills my nose and I sneeze. “Achoo!!!”

Then two men grab my biceps and start dragging me forward. And, me being me, I say it anyway.

“Boys, I only prefer one. And honestly, I’d rather have you two fight each other with knives for me.”

From my left, I hear a weird choking sound, like one of them almost laughs before cutting himself off.

Whatever.

When neither of them answers, irritation starts crawling under my skin. So I stop cooperating and plant my feet. They jolt slightly before dragging me along anyway.

Rude.

Then I go completely limp, dropping my full weight onto them. They still don’t react. They just keep hauling me forward like I’m an inconvenient sack of potatoes.

Oh,Fuck them!

“Speak up, or I am not cooperating!” I start the sentence normally, then raise my voice dramatically at the end.

Then the guy’s voice comes again—the same one who talked to me earlier.

“Sweetheart, you better cooperate. You know I don’t like bad girls.”

His voice is weirdly sweet.

I like that.

“You single?” I ask casually.

Because I’m over a thousand years old, immortal, slightly unhinged, and running dangerously low on common sense. At this point, my survival instincts are mostly decorative.

A quiet laugh slips from him this time.

“You know you’re seriously messed up,asking your kidnapper to fuck you?” he says, his voice smooth—way too smooth. The kind of voice that stands out immediately because nobody just casually sounds like that on a daily basis.

Honestly, it’s unfair.

And messed up? Man, I am messed up…

Then I hear the shuffling of keys, followed by a click as the lock opens.

Before I can react, I’m shoved hard to the side. My back slams into a wall, so at least now I know where one side of the room is.

Then his voice comes again.

“Sleep up, sweetheart. Tomorrow is a big day.”

“At least give me a pillow,” I say. Because, seriously—be realistic. If I’m being kidnapped, I’d still like basic comfort.

“NO!”

A gruff, unpleasant voice echoes through the room, sharp enough to make me flinch.

Oh.

That’s definitely someone else.

And definitely old.

You can just hear it—that rough, aged grumble only old men seem to perfect over decades of being miserable. The voice bounces off the walls, too, which means the room is probably bigger than I thought.

Fantastic.

Then I hear footsteps retreating, followed by the heavy click of the door locking behind them.

I huff.

Fine. I’m alone.

…Probably.

There’s always a chance someone’s still in here, quietly lurking in a corner like some creepy little gargoyle, but honestly? I don’t care enough to check.

I lean back against the wall and think.

Should I do something?

I mean, I have options.

There’s a knife hidden inside the sole of my shoe.

My bracelet has a tracker—live location shared with one of my bestie, because unlike some people, I plan ahead.

And my necklace? Not fake.

It looks decorative, sure.Cute.

It’s also sharp enough to cut through bone.

So, technically, I could escape.

Cause chaos.

Stab someone.

Dramatically disappear into the night.

…

Or—

I could just go to sleep.

Honestly, tomorrow sounds like their problem.