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Chapter Text

Ilsa awoke to several high-pitched tones, which sounded like an alarm system. She heard the sound of heavy footsteps coming her way. Involuntary the British agent shuddered, the open door brought more coldness into the already freezing room.

Ilsa didn't move her head as she heard the other person enter. Her gaze was fixed on the wall opposite her. A thin ray of moonlight squeezed through the window bars behind her, the rest of the room was engulfed in darkness. She sat tied to a chair, her knuckles covered in bruises and cuts from the attempt to break free. 

The person walked around her, and based on their movements Ilsa could only assume that he was male. He halted behind her. “Oh look our Princess has finally decided to wake up"

He forcefully grabbed a handful of her hair, which flung her head back. "And based on her bruises tried yet again to break free.." He turned to face her. 

"How many times do I have to tell you that there's no escape?" 

"Lane." She spat. "You fucking bastard!" 

His palm connected with her cheek, and a groan escaped her lips. "You do not get to talk to me like that, you bitch!" 

Remember I was the one who took you in when you had nothing! I gave you so much and still you chose to betray me over and over again."

Ilsa sniggered. "Oh sure you did!" 

Suddenly she found it hard to breathe, realizing seconds later that Lane had started to choke her.

"You know little one, he permitted me to do anything to you that I want. Without having to think about consequences. If you keep  that behavior up, it's going end poorly for you and we don't want that, do we?" 

"You are going to regret your decision if you touch me again!" The brunette snapped.

"I doubt that." 

"You can hurt me, but it won't change a thing, he will find you. And when he does...it won't be pleasant for you."

"Keep talking all you want, once your soldier walks through that door" his finger pointed to the mental entrance behind him "he's going to find three, approximately four bullets in his chest, if I miss. If I don't, you'll find a hole in his head."

Ilsa scoffed. "And what makes you so sure of that?"

"Because I know Ethan Hunt."

"Then you know him well enough to know, that he has already figured out where you are holding me captive."

___________________________________________

But he hadn't.
Ethan Hunt had searched almost everywhere.

And yet he had not found a single clue as to where she was. It was like his wife was swallowed by a black hole. 

___________________________________________

"Whatever you say flicka,
It's time for some fun, don't you think? Vem vet, Ska jag använda en kniv eller en hammare? (Who knows, should I use a knife or a hammer?)
Shall we start with your face?  Oh, but I would hate to ruin that one, it's so pleasant to look at."

In the course of just a few hours, Ilsa's attackers switched places, Lane and that damn Swede, who Ilsa was pretty sure, were fucking Sadists, and enjoyed seeing her so helpless.

Another slap at her cheek followed, making her head swing to the left. Accidentally she bit the inside of her cheek and blood pooled in her mouth. 

Angrily she spit it out.

Slowly the man took a knife from the table, which Ilsa only now noticed. With another smaller one, he began sharpening it. The British agent glanced warningly as he approached her. 

His arm swung back and then in a swift motion dashed forward, cutting her left upper arm with the blade. Ilsa groaned. Blood flowed down, dropping to the floor below her chair.
Angrily she narrowed her eyes at him.

Another cut followed. "What exactly are you doing that for? 'Cause if you think that this is going to make me tell you what we have about Gabriel so far, you're wrong." 

Cutting flesh Lane smirked up to her  and whispered threateningly." If you think, you're going to keep the charade of the strong woman up, you're the one being in the wrong. For your own sake, I suggest you stop playing around and start giving me some damn answers!" 

She narrowed her eyes. She hadn't heard him coming and it terrified her. Two against one she thought.

He twisted the knife, making her wince. "Why should I give you answers when you already know them? He's your boss after all. I am sure you know as much about him as I do."

"Just tell us bitch." The blonde's fist collided with her eye and she blinked a few times to regain her sight.
Instead of whining she just smirked at him. Completely ignoring the new bruise starting to form.

Another blow landed in her stomach. A crack was heard. The ribs. Two at least. 

He continued to hit her body, using her as a personal punching bag and she did not doubt that the now reddened skin would turn blueish purple in a few days. 

The only sound in the room was her breathing, coming out in sharp, fast bursts followed by gasps of pain.

Ilsa's breath quickened. She had to think fast. Each new injury blocked her way outside that building.

Another question plagued her mind: Where the bloody hell was Ethan? She felt a needle in her arm and started to drift out of consciousness.

_________________________________________

 "Benji, did you find the men who followed us? Ethan asked his friend, visibly anxious. "I am still trying to find the registered license plate. The picture you sent is rather blurry. You know, you should take a course or two on "how to handle electronic devices''

"Benji. Cut the slack. No jokes now. Ilsa's life is on the line. And it's on us to find her."

"I am working on it."

 "Work faster!"

"I'm doing everything I can!"

"WELL MAYBE IT'S NOT ENOUGH!" Ethan shouted.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. It's just... I can't go through the same thing,... after what happened with Julia. ...I can't. And somehow yet again I feel responsible.." 

Benji shared a pitying look with Luther before walking up to his friend.

" We will find her. I know we will. She is strong, our Ilsa. Our very own wonder-woman, you know that better than any of us."

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Her clothes were sprinkled with blood,  and her body was bruised. Her sight, blurry.

She didn't know why exactly.

Ilsa saw what seemed like the silhouette of a man nearing her.

Her head throbbed in pain and she whimpered ever so slightly.

"What do you say now, Princess? You want to give us some information?" 

Angrily she shook her head and a palm connected with her cheek again.

"Come on now, we both know this is not going to lead to anything, just tell us what you have and we stop," the male voice said, however, due to her restrained sight she couldn't make out who it was.

"As I said before ..." she breathed out sharply "you should already know these answers"

The man circled her stroking her hair gently. Furiously Ilsa tried to get a better look at him. But no luck.

Then the light from the moon completely disappeared. A cloud had made its way in front of it, engulfing the room in total blackness. Even the silhouette of the man was replaced by darkness.

Involuntarily she shivered again.

She heard rustling and clinking from the other side of the room and immediately her senses were heightened.

The shadow which she could barely make out made its way over to her again.

This time his hands seemed larger as if he was holding something. A metal bar maybe?

Slowly the man put his hand under her chin and tilted her face from side to side. "How lucky I am, that it has been you"

Then he hit her.

He slammed the bar directly onto her upper arm. She was prepared to hear a crack but it never came.

However, she felt the pain and the bruise that would be her reminder of this event for the next couple of weeks.

If Ethan got her out. If he would be fast enough. If...

He hit her left arm, then again the right and Ilsa kept his gaze steadily on him, to where she assumed the face of her abuser was.

When the third blow struck her left arm she felt numb. The only sensation when it was time for her right arm again was a strange dullness.

Slowly the moon creeped out behind the clouds, wrapping the room in a soft glow.

The man stood with his back to her, threw the metal bar away, and switched it with a small dagger.

Ilsa swallowed and her gaze wandered to the scar on her collarbone. 

Ilsa stared at the wall opposite of her and thought about the absurdity of it. The absurdity of everything. 

And how her arm started to hurt, her breathing becoming heavy. She was aware of it. She was also aware that HE was aware of it just as much.

She closed her eyes. Just a quick rest she thought. Every minute that I stay alive Ethan is close to finding me. Just stay alive.

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"Ethan I think I found something-

The license plate we found belongs to a car registered to someone named Karlson Löfgren. Swedish, I presume. Does he seem familiar?" Benji waved his tablet around.

"No. Do we know where he is currently?" Ethan asked.

"Yes. Morocco."

"Then let's get this son of a bitch"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

It was the cold that woke her. That or her wounds. Not that it mattered; they both hurt.

She looked around her at the gloomy cellar. There was the window. The silhouette of a man in front of her, there was the table with the torture devices

and there was her. Nothing else.

Ilsa had no idea what time or day it was. The light in her room suggested that it might be early in the morning.

She knew that she was tired. And bruised. And that she had to fight her way out if she wanted to see her husband one more time.

Her mind began racing with ideas on how to escape.

The next time this door was going to open she would have a plan, that was for certain. At least, that was what she'd kept telling herself.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Ethan's hands clenched the steering wheel as he hit the roads. Benji sat next to him and tensed up, shooting him a quick look that said :" Slow down! You don't want us both to get killed now, do you?"

"Where do I have to turn next Benji?" His partner said through gritted teeth. "Uh, turn left two more times and the building where the van is parked should be on the right"

Ethan stepped on the gas pedal.

Making the engine howl as he drove down the streets. 

They arrived in Morocco with the plane just a few hours ago, Ethan lacked sleep but all that didn't matter much to him at this moment. The most important thought he had was getting his wife back. 

------------------------------------------------------------------

The door opened slower this time. Almost taunting her. This time she could see the face of the man. The Swede.

But still, he was unfamiliar to her. "Se vem vi har här, hej igen." (See who we have here, hello again)

Ilsa groaned slightly. "Nuh-uh,  none of that."

From the corner of her eye, she could see him holding a syringe. But he wasn't using it yet which made her wonder what he had planned.

He made his way over, the syringe now in his pocket. He started caressing her hair, then her cheek. When his fingers wandered over her lips, she opened her mouth and bit down hard on his flesh.

He withdrew his fingers and laughed. "Feisty one aren't we?"

"Well" his eyes roamed around her body like a hunter eyeing his prey intensely. "Lucky for me, I have a thing for Brats. We're gonna have so much fun together. Min egen personliga hora (My own personal whore)"

Karlson started touching her shoulder, and let his hands wander down to her breasts. Once there he started groping them.

Ilsa squirmed uncomfortably under his touch. Her eyes were full of hatred. He knelt. His hand made its way down to her belly, to her thighs.

Slowly he stroked them. "A step further and I'm going to squash your head between my knees" Ilsa murmured groggily.

"Åh älskling, jag skulle inget hellre vilja än att vara mellan dina lår" (Oh darling, I would like nothing more than to be between your thighs!)

Ilsa just scoffed at the man's answer and laid her head back, closing her eyes to prepare for the next step.

Karlsons' hand wandered on the inside of her thigh. "I said you are gonna regret this" she mumbled through gritted teeth.

"And I don't care"

She tried to move some more, making him visibly annoyed.

"Come on now flicka don't make this any harder" 

And then she squeezed her legs shut, his head in between. He winced and whimpered in pain. "fucking bitch " he said falling to the ground. 

Ilsa looked at him once more and noticed the needle, that he put in her leg too late. She used her last strength to kick him in the head making him lose his consciousness. 

She rocked the chair which she was sitting on, back and forth until it finally tipped over and she laid on her side.

With a jerk, she managed to slide closer to the unconscious body and took a small knife from the man. She was sure that in the process she had strained her fingers even more and broken at least one thumb.

But she managed to grab it and began to cut her bonds. Her sight was getting blurry so she just pushed the knife back and forth, hoping she somehow managed to loosen them up or fully cut them.

As she heard another beep at the door she halted. This was her chance. With a last pull, she ripped the ropes in two.

Don't do anything stupid now. Careful. Strategic. How many more minutes before I  lose consciousness? Where is Ethan? Get out now. When the door opens and the man gets in..you get out.

The door did indeed open and with a cat-like leap, she was on her feet and stabbing the unknowing man. Then she made her way outside. Orientating in this building was bad, even worse with a blurry sight.

She just followed her gut. Stumbling down stairs, trying to stay undetected for as long as she could manage. Then almost at her presumed end of all the suffering, her legs gave out and she collapsed at the end of a staircase.

Her head hit the wall and she groaned.

Please Ethan hurry up. I don't wanna die alone again.

____________________________________________

Chapter Text

It was past midnight.
Luther's and Benji's chatter kept Ethan from fully ascending into the land of the dreaming.
Dark circles under his eyes showed the lack of sleep he had the last two weeks. So he had hoped to find some rest.
"Ethan, we've been through everything," Benji said, not looking up from the screen. "There’s no sign of Ilsa here. Someone led us on a wild goose chase."

They had found the van in Morocco but it was a bad surprise. 
The driver of the van had been killed. Three shots. Two in the chest and one in the head. 
As if the killer wanted to make sure he died. 
This discovery meant another step back for Ethan and his team, as they had to start from scratch.

Ethan accepted the cup of coffee Luther offered him silently, before turning his head to him.
"Any news?" He asked not expecting a positive answer at this point. Luther shook his head. "I'm afraid I have to disappoint you. We heard nothing from Brandt and Jane as well"
 Just as Ethan predicted. 
Luther tapped a pen against his chin, his eyes narrowing in thought. "This person is smart. He knew we'd come here, so he gave us just enough to keep us busy
 while he did whatever he needed to."
"Damn it." 
He closed his eyes for a minute. Defeated, he fought against cruel images that filled his head. 
 Wishing she would be here by his side. Unharmed. 
As if his friend could sense Ethan's emotional state, he laid a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. 
"Ethan. We will find her. Alive." 
Ethan shook his head in disbelief. "It's been two weeks Luther. Two weeks. And not a sight of anything!"
His friend only looked at him pitifully. "We will find her. She-" He started before he got interrupted by Ethan. "GODDAMN LUTHER. THERE'S ZERO CHANCE WE WILL FIND HER IN TIME!
FUCKING HELL,  GABRIEL PULLED HIS CARD AND HE WON! All right? He won, and there's nothing we can do about it."
"Ethan I understand that you're upset and angry, we all are. But you must not lose hope. Not now. We need you here in full focus. She needs you. You must understand that."
The agent sighed. "I do."
"All right, then let's go back to work. We don't know for sure that it was Gabriel who kidnapped her...We have to search for every single clue, no matter how small it might seem" 
"It would fit him...but you're right. Luther, I want my girl back."

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Ilsa's mind was blurred, and so was her sight. 
The last thing she remembered was that she escaped the cellar and made her way to a staircase.
Now she was tied up, sitting on a chair again. The room appeared now slightly different from the one before. 

More steril. So white it hurt her eyes and made her squint. 
Blood ran down her nose, onto her lips. What had happened? She thought. 
"Titta vem som har vaknat (Look who has woken up)"
Ilsa's eyes tried to focus on the man who just spoke. 
Was it the Swede, whom she had knocked unconscious? 
Was this all just a dream, an imagination her mind tricked her with? 
Suddenly she felt a paper tissue on her face, cleaning the blood from her nose and some part of her lip that was busted open. 
"Now we wouldn't want to get the Princess all dirty now, would we?" 
Ilsa shivered. Lane. 
"What happened?" she croaked, desperate for the answer, since she expected to be out of this hell already. 
"Oh Precious, wouldn't you like to know?" Lane mocked her as he started to caress her face before smacking it with his right hand. 
The Brit winced in pain as she heard another pair of shoes enter the room.  
She looked up and her eyes widened in shock. 

"Well, Agent Faust seems like your little escape plan didn't work out that well did it? I see every possible outcome, of course, I predicted that you would try to flee sooner than later. 
And you did make it quite far actually. But two staircases might have been too confusing in this situation. 
Had you just chosen the right one,- and not the one that led you back into my room? 
Back into my arms." 
"You." 

 She saw the corners of his mouth lift.  
"Missed me?"  
"Can't say I have" Ilsa mumbled.  
"Did you honestly think you could outsmart me?"
"The thought had crossed my mind"
His hand wrapped around her hair, wrenching her head to the side, Do not patronize me." A hand wrapped around her throat.
Her nostrils flared as she attempted to breathe. There was a sting from where Gabriel pulled on her roots.
"Did you know fear has a scent?" She tried to move her head but it was no use.
He stopped strangling her, his nose skimming along the pale expanse of Ilsa's neck.

"No, I didn't think you would." His mouth turned down, "It's all to do with pheromones, really.
The scent of fear triggers a reaction in the amygdala and the hypothalamus. A type of warning, as it were, that humans have long since become numb to recognizing."
He leaned back in, inhaling deeply, the stubble of his beard tickling Ilsa's skin." And you reek of it"

She tugged at the ties.  All four limbs were held as tightly as ever.
 " You drugged me" she huffed and narrowed her eyes. 
He let go of her hair, stepping away and chuckling quietly.
Gabriel flipped one of his daggers through his fingers, the move so practiced and smooth it sent a spike of fear bolting through Ilsa's chest, making her relive the events of Venice. 
"I did."
"You piece of-" Gabriel interrupted Ilsa by crouching down, facing her. His gaze burned into her skin before he shortly looked at her ring finger. 
"Your- husband took something." He paused and closed his eyes briefly. "Something irreplaceable, from me, as you may know." 
" I don't know what you're talking abo-" 
Gabriel shot up from his position, pacing across the room until he met a chair, one which Ilsa hadn't noticed before. 
His hand wrapped around the back, and he flung it toward her. "Do not lie to me, Agent Faust" he bellowed.
Ilsa's lungs seize as the chair smashes against the wall, her hair blowing by the sheer force.  Gabriel stalked back to her, lunged forward, and gripped her jaw tightly in his hands.
"Do not play innocent with me." His blade slid across her cheek. Ilsa winced and closed her eyes.
"I really don't know." Annoyance flickered across his face. "Pity." His hand slams down, the tip of his blade, slicing through Ilsa's tendons, lodging deep into her thigh. 
She stared at him in shock for a second, until the thought of what happened settled in her brain, causing her to scream in pain.

He picked up a slender metal rod, its tip glowing a faint, ominous red. Walking slowly towards her, he let the rod hover near her cheek, the heat radiating against her skin.
"Do you know what this is, Ilsa?" he asked, his tone almost conversational.
"A toy for a sadist," she spat.

Gabriel chuckled softly. "A heating rod. It's designed to cause pain without leaving permanent marks. Perfect for our purposes."
He pressed the rod gently against her arm, and Ilsa's body tensed involuntarily as a searing pain shot through her. She bit down hard on her lip, refusing to cry out. 
She tasted blood as her teeth broke the skin.
"Ah, such resilience," Gabriel mused, removing the rod. "But everyone has their breaking point."

He moved to a different instrument, this one a small device with electrodes. Placing it against her temple, he activated it, sending a jolt of electricity through her body. Ilsa convulsed, her muscles contracting painfully, and this time a small cry escaped her lips.
"Where is it?" Gabriel's voice was calm, almost soothing.
Ilsa's vision blurred, tears mingling with sweat. She took a ragged breath, forcing herself to focus. "Where is what?" she whispered.
"THE KEY" he shouted but then pulled himself together, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Do you know where it is?" 
"No."
Gabriel sighed, almost disappointed. "We have all the time in the world, Ilsa. This can end whenever you want it to. Just tell me where it is."
Another jolt and Ilsa's head snapped back, the pain blinding. She could feel herself slipping, her strength waning, but she clung to her resolve. 
Ethan depended on her. The team depended on her.
Gabriel stepped back, observing her. "I admire your strength, truly. But you must realize, eventually, you will talk. Everyone does. 
Ilsa's eyes fluttered open, and she managed a weak, defiant smile. "Then you don't know me," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Gabriel's expression hardened, and he leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear. "We'll see," he murmured. " You'll soon wish you died that merciful death I gave you on that bridge in Venice."
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Ethan paced back and forth in the small, cluttered room, his frustration palpable. 
Benji was hunched over a laptop, his fingers flying over the keys, while Luther sifted through a pile of maps and documents spread across a makeshift table.
Benji frowned, his eyes scanning the computer monitor. "I've been going through all intercepted communications. If Ilsa isn’t here, we need to figure out where Gabriel would take he-."
"We do not know if it's Gabriel who took her" Luther interrupted, pulling out a file and spreading its contents. 
"But if so, Gabriel has used several locations in the past, although he usually stays on the move. One place stands out, though—a secluded estate outside of Reykjavik. It's well-fortified and off the grid." he continued.
Benji's eyes widen confused "Reykla- what?"
Luther narrowed his eyes at him but it was Ethan who spoke "Reykjavik, capital of Iceland. It is located on the Seltjarnar Peninsula."
Benji tapped a few keys, pulling up satellite images of the area. "Oh, okay. Wait, Here, Reykjavik, If we leave now, we can be there in a few hours. But we need to be sure—if we go there and it's another fiasco, then..."
Ethan gave a nod of approval. "We have no other leads, and there is no room for error. Let's move. We’re getting Ilsa back."

Location: Private Jet En Route to Reykjavik
The hum of the jet's engines was a constant backdrop as the team sat in the plane.
Benji was tweaking a small device, Luther was analyzing blueprints of the estate, which they had found out was a chalet in Burfell and Ethan was lost in thought, his mind on Ilsa.
"Ethan," Luther said, breaking the silence. "If Gabriel has her there, and that's a big IF,  it’s not going to be easy. We’ll need to be ready for anything."
"We will be."Ethan mumbled, "We will be."

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Gabriel had taken the British agent from the white sterile room to what Ilsa assumed were his bedchambers. 
The device with the electrodes had been taken off her head.
"Now. Where were we?" 
Ilsa met his gaze with steely defiance. "You won't get what you want from me"
Gabriel sighed, stepping closer. "Your spirit is commendable but ultimately futile." 
His fingers grazed her cheek, a touch that made her skin crawl. "There are other ways to break a person."
Ilsa’s eyes flashed with anger and fear. "Get your hands off me."

 He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back. 
"I wouldn't dream of letting such a great body go to waste." He spat. Ilsa closed her mouth just in time, so she wouldn't accidently swallow his spit. 
Gabriel laughed. "You're a little fighter, aren't you? But worry not, I do love a challenge." 
His hand trailed over her body, coming to rest at her breast. He ripped her shirt apart which earned him a groan from Ilsa. 
"What? Don't tell me this was from Prada." Gabriel joked.  
He moved closer. Ilsa's heart pounded, but she kept her focus.
She had been trained for moments like this, to stay calm under pressure and find a way out. 
Her eyes flicked around the room, searching for anything she could use.

“I can smell your fear,” Gabriel whispered, his lips brushing against her shoulders. 
She could feel his breath on her neck, hot and invasive. The room seemed to close in around her, the air thick with tension.
“You have no idea how long I've waited for this,” Gabriel whispered, his lips brushing against her ear.
 She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “This won’t end the way you think it will,” she managed to say, her voice a strained whisper.
Gabriel chuckled softly, the sound sending chills down her spine. “Oh, I think it will. And you’ll be the one begging by the end of it.”
He moved his hand lower, brushing over her ribcage, lingering. Ilsa's breaths came in short, ragged gasps as she struggled against the restraints, bound around her hands. 
For a moment, Gabriel’s eyes darkened with anger. He leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear. "You think you can defy me? You’re alone here, Ilsa."
She jerked away, her voice sharp. "I'd rather die than give you anything." His smile was cold and predatory. 
"That can be arranged, but not before I’ve had my fun."

He pushed her onto a couch, her head hit the headboard of the bed and with a blink, she passed out.

+++

As she awoke, she felt something wet drip onto her.
She wiped her forehead with her hand and shuddered. Blood. 

With wide eyes, she stared up at the monstrosity hanging from the ceiling.
Above her, suspended mere inches from her face, was the lifeless body of a woman. 
Her eyes were wide open, a look of shock forever etched onto her pallid face.
Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, dripping slowly onto the agent's cheek.
Her naked body was slashed completely. 
Ilsa wanted to scream but quickly shut herself up, as more blood was pooling on the bedcovers and her.
Because Ilsa's ties around her feet had been removed, she was quick on her feet crawling off the bed.
It proved to be quite difficult as her hands were still tied.

She began twisting her wrists back and forth to stretch the rope. 
It chafed her skin more than she expected, so she squinted her eyes a few times in pain. 
But this didn't cause her to stop. Relentlessly, she tried again and again. Ilsa pushed the strands on either side together to loosen the knot. As much as her injuries allowed her, she moved her arms up and down which caused the rope to stretch more. 
It made her exhausted  but she never stopped repeating this endless procedure and 
finally, the piece unraveled and Ilsa let it drop on the floor. 
 For a brief moment, she gave herself a break and leaned her head back to catch her breath.  
She tried to get up. She managed it, even though she was now a little unsteady on her feet.
She continued walking taking slow, careful steps.
. She shuddered as she heard more blood hit the bed where she had been lying minutes before.
So much Blood. Not just on the bed, but also on Ilsa herself. She didn't need to look in the mirror to know that it was everywhere.
A few more steps, she reached out but before she could touch the doorknob her knees gave in and 
she collapsed on the ground. 

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The dimly lit corridor stretched out before them, the air thick with tension as Ethan led the team through an abandoned Chalet in Burfell
Their footsteps echoed against the cold, cracked tiles, each door they passed holding the potential for danger or salvation
The building was a labyrinth of decaying rooms and faded memories, each corner a new challenge in their frantic search.

"Split up, check every room," Ethan ordered, his voice low but firm, masking the fear gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. 
Benji and Luther nodded in silent agreement, their expressions mirroring the same concern. 
Ilsa was out there somewhere, and every second wasted, increased the distance between them.
They moved checking each door. Benji’s hands trembled slightly as he pushed open the next one, revealing a dusty, empty space. Luther, a few steps ahead, kicked down a door, revealing nothing but white walls and flooring. 
He noticed a Chair lying oddly in front of a wall.
Ethan’s heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing through the possibilities. 
Gabriel was nowhere to be seen, his presence a looming shadow over them.

Finally, as he reached the end of the corridor, Ethan shoved open a heavy wooden door.

Ethan pushed open the door, and he stepped into what appeared to be a bedroom. 
The room was unsettlingly elegant, a stark contrast to the rest of the decrepit building. The walls were painted in a deep, oppressive shade of burgundy, their color intensified by the dim light cast by a series of ornate, low-hanging chandeliers. 
The flickering light created long, dancing shadows that seemed to creep across the room, 
making it feel as though the darkness itself was alive.

The centerpiece of the room was a grand four-poster bed, draped in rich, dark velvet curtains that brushed the floor. The bedspread was an awfully bright white, perfectly smoothed over the mattress with meticulous care. Or rather was, it had been reddened,
 the sheets on one side rummaged.
 It was as if the room had been prepared for something—or someone—with twisted, deliberate intent.

Ilsa lay still, her face pale against the dark floor. Her breathing was shallow, but it was there—a fragile thread of life that brought some small comfort. Blood matted her hair.
Ethan rushed towards her.
"She's here " he yelled and his teammates came rushing through the corridor.
"Oh thank heavens, is she alive?" Benji asked crouching down to face Ilsa.
"She's breathing" Ethan responded and gently lifted her up in his arms.
"Let's get her to the car and get out of here," Luther said already in the corridor again, a few steps in front of them.
-----------------------------------

Ilsa laid on a couch in a safe house. Her wounds had been cared for, now hidden under wraps of bandages. 
Ethan sat beside her, his expression a mixture of concern and relief as he gently held her hand.
"How are you feeling?" He asked softly,
Ilsa managed a weak smile, her eyes flickering with gratitude as she squeezed his hand. "Better, now that I'm with you," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
 "Thank you for coming for me." 
Ethan's thumb traced small circles on the back of her hand, his gaze unwavering. "I'd go anywhere for you, Ilsa. You know that."
Benji bustled into the room, his usual nervous energy tempered by concern as he carried a tray with a steaming mug of tea. 
"Here you go, Ils," he said gently, placing the mug on the table beside her. "It's chamomile. I think;  It should help you relax."
Ilsa nodded gratefully, reaching for the mug with trembling hands. The warmth spread through her as she took a sip, soothing her frayed nerves.
 "Thank you, Benji," she murmured, managing a small smile.
Luther entered quietly, his presence a steady reassurance in the room.
 "Everything's secure here," he announced, his voice calm and authoritative. "We'll be safe for now."