thirds person's POV
When consciousness returned, it did so reluctantly.
Pain reached Ethan first, settling behind his eyes before spreading through the back of his skull with every heartbeat. His mouth felt dry enough to taste blood, and every shallow breath carried the unmistakable scent of rust, salt, and engine oil.
His brow furrowed.
That smell wasn't a hospital.
It wasn't a police station.
It certainly wasn't home.
He forced his eyes open.
The world remained dim, broken only by thin ribbons of daylight filtering through narrow seams in corrugated steel. As his vision adjusted, the outlines of metal walls slowly emerged around him, enclosing him on every side.
He lay still, listening.
A low mechanical vibration hummed beneath him, steady enough to be felt through the floor, while somewhere beyond the walls came the distant rhythm of water striking steel.
Then the memories returned.
The deserted highway.
The black SUV.
The shattering driver's window.
