Katharina awoke to the hum of an unfamiliar voice. It floated through the fog of half-sleep, light and mumbled, until her mind began to surface as she felt the texture of rough linen scraping against her bare shoulder.

  Her eyes blinked open to faded wooden beams above her, the faint scent of something like boiled cabbage and ash lingering in the air. As the woman’s voice became clearer, Katharina’s stomach tightened. Yesterday hadn’t been a dream. The market, the strange people, the language she couldn’t understand, and the couple who’d brought her here the night before, it had all been real.

  She sat up cautiously. Still beneath the covers, she reached around and pulled her shirt back on. The fabric clung to her skin. She reeked faintly of sweat and damp soil, the scent of yesterday’s confusion and adrenaline still clinging to her like smoke. As her body was now awake, nature called.

  Awkwardly, she turned toward the woman, wondering how to make her request understood. “Can I use your bathroom?” she tried, then again: “Toilet?” No reaction. “Klo?” she offered in German. Still nothing. “?Ba?o?” Even more hopeless. The woman merely tilted her head and smiled warmly, speaking in the same indecipherable language she’d used the night before. Katharina groaned, half in frustration, half in embarrassment. She was back to gesturing as communication, hoping that the act of crossing her legs, tiptoeing on the spot, and casting a pleading look was a universally known signal for "I have to go...".

  Something clicked. The woman let out a small “ah!” and gestured for her to follow. They exited the back of the house into a cramped, cluttered courtyard ringed with leaning buildings and patched-together fences. In one corner stood a pig tethered to a post, lazily swishing its tail in the early morning haze. Dew clung to the weeds between cobblestones. The woman pointed to a crooked wooden shack.

  An outhouse.

  Katharina approached it with growing reluctance. The stench hit her before she even reached the door. Inside was nothing but a rickety bench with a hole over a pit and a bucket filled with what looked like dirt. No toilet paper. No flush. Just the raw and unapologetic stink of human waste. Are we in the Middle Ages or something? she thought, swallowing in reluctance. Where the hell am I?

  After doing her business, she emerged into the courtyard that felt just slightly more surreal than before. The smells. The pig. The complete lack of anything familiar. She returned inside slowly, the woman already back at the stove, humming to herself as though nothing were out of place. Katharina sat by the modest table, her thoughts spinning. Had she gone back in time? Was she in a coma? Some twisted hallucination? Or was this just a prank of impossible scale? None of it made sense.

  They were halfway through breakfast when the knock came, heavy, deliberate, and loud enough to make the bowl in Katharina’s hands tremble. She jumped in her seat. The woman, however, didn’t even flinch. If anything, she looked... ready. As though she’d been waiting for this exact moment.

  The woman rose, wiped her hands calmly on her apron, and moved to the door.

  Katharina followed her with her eyes, a faint flutter of hope in her chest. Is someone here to help me? Maybe they’ve realized I’m missing. That something’s wrong. But the thought wilted as the door creaked open.

  Two men stood in the doorway, large and broad-shouldered, with grizzled stubble and leather vests stained from years of use. They looked like they belonged in a mercenary camp, gruff and sour-faced, boots crusted with old mud and something darker. One wore a satchel bulging at the seams, the other carried a coiled whip at his side.

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  Katharina stiffened. They don’t look like police. Why would such gruff men be knocking at this nice woman's door at the crack of dawn?

  Still, maybe they were here by coincidence? Her eyes darted back and forth. The woman and the men exchanged a few low words in that strange, fluid language, none of which Katharina understood. Then came a handshake. One of the men reached into his bag and pulled out what looked like a coin pouch that clinked with undeniable weight.

  A tingling feeling of dread ran down Katharina's spine as her stomach dropped. Then, too casually, like he was picking up a bag of grain, the other man grabbed her arm.

  “Wait, no!” she gasped, instinctively yanking herself back. “No, no, no, what do you think you are doing?”

  The man’s grip didn’t loosen. His callused fingers dug into her skin, and she felt a bruise forming beneath his thumb. Deep down, Katharina knew exactly what was unfolding before her. Holy shit. I’m being trafficked.

  “Stop!” she shouted. “You can’t do this, I’m not from around here! I’m not supposed to be here!”

  "???? ?ψ!"

  The man said something harsh in his language and yanked her to her feet. His voice was a growl, the words jagged and unfamiliar.

  “I have rights!” she cried. “This is a human rights violation!”

  Her heart was pounding so fast she felt like she might throw up. The man pulled harder. The chair tipped over behind her with a crash, and Katharina flailed.

  “Let go, you bastard!” she screamed, swinging her fist at his chest. “Get your filthy hands off me, you vile despicable piece of shit!”

  Spit was flying everywhere as Katharina hurled insults at the man. Only interrupted by her right hand as she pounded against the man's chest, bloodying her tight knuckles.

  The blows landed, but they didn’t matter. He barely flinched. He could have lifted her with one arm if he wanted to.

  Fueled by rage and terror, she twisted her whole body with a might she had never summoned before, lunging herself at the man's arm, teeth first.

  She let them sink into the fabric of his sleeve, into skin beneath soaked with sweat and grime. The taste was repulsive, like old leather and salt and something putrid, but she bit harder. Blood welled in her mouth like a punch to the tongue. The man howled.

  "???∞ - ??? ???ナ? ?? ????∞Ω ??!"

  His hand released her arm, but only for a moment. The next instant, his other hand clamped down on the back of her head like a vise, his fingers winding into her hair and pulling her, steering her in the direction of the door.

  “Let go of me! I’m not going!” she sputtered, thrashing.

  The second man stepped forward, pulling something from inside his vest. A small, flat, brightly orange stone, etched with a glowing rune, was thrust directly in front of her face. She couldn't move away.

  The man holding her forced her forward again, too hard. Her neck strained as he tilted her chin up with brute force, and the edge of the stone hit against her cheekbone. The sting was immediate. She recoiled, dazed, and then the silence hit.

  No sound came from her throat. Her mouth moved. Her lungs heaved. But it was as if something inside her had been severed. She tried again. Nothing. The scream that should have erupted came out as... absence.

  She clawed at the air. Still struggled. But her body began to dull, her limbs growing heavy, her head spinning.

  As the door opened and they dragged her into the morning light, Katharina caught one last glimpse of the couple at the breakfast table. The woman and her husband were bent over the pouch of coins, emptying it onto the worn wood, their faces lit with glee, like children tearing into birthday gifts.

  And before she had passed the threshold of the doorframe, Katharina's mind had followed her body's growing numbness, and even with the sun rising, everything seemed to be going dark.