Quinn could tell by the look in Scott's eyes that his heart was forever tied to Allison. It wasn't something he said or did outright—it was in the way his gaze constantly wandered toward her, even when he thought no one was paying attention.

His shoulders seemed to unconsciously lean in her direction, his expression softening at the mere mention of her name. It was as if every fiber of his being was tethered to the Argent girl, a love so deeply rooted that it left no space for anyone else.

Quinn felt a pang of jealousy but not for the reasons someone might assume. She didn't want Scott to love her instead. No, her longing came from a different place entirely. She wanted to experience that kind of love, to have someone look at her with the same unwavering devotion Scott reserved for Allison. It wasn't about him—it was about what he represented.

It wasn't as though Quinn didn't value herself. She did. But the idea of love—pure, selfless, and unyielding—was something foreign to her. She had always been good at brushing off her own insecurities, pretending they didn't exist. Yet deep down, there was a part of her that whispered cruelly: You're too broken to be loved like that. She hated the thought, hated how cliché it sounded, but it lingered all the same.

Scott, for his part, never lied to her. He never pretended that she was anything more than what she was: a distraction. And she was okay with that—or at least, she convinced herself she was. Their so-called romance had its boundaries, lines they both refused to cross. It was comfortable, like a bandage covering wounds neither of them was ready to address. They could have fallen for each other if they tried, but they didn't. The pain of their pasts loomed too large for either to consider opening their hearts fully.

So, Quinn decided to let it be. She wasn't bitter; she was... accepting. That was her nature. She had always believed that everything happened for a reason, even if it didn't make sense at the moment. She found peace in that belief, a quiet sort of calm that allowed her to face life with an air of detachment.

Maybe that's why people sometimes called her an airhead.

But even Quinn's optimism couldn't quite mask the absurdity of her current situation.

"Why the hell is she just staring at me?" The woman muttered under her breath, her eyes flicking to Quinn across from her.

Kali, a woman who looked like she hadn't taken personal grooming seriously in years—or maybe she was just into something really niche—stood there with a scowl so intense it could wilt flowers. Quinn tried not to stare at the woman's bare feet, which were grimy enough to make her stomach churn. She doubted Kali cared much about appearances.

Across the room, Ennis let out an exasperated groan, clearly on edge. For the past two hours, Kali had been complaining non-stop about their current predicament: namely, the girl sitting before them. Quinn, for her part, sat with an expression of bemusement, as though she couldn't quite grasp the seriousness of the situation.

Quinn's head throbbed where she had been struck during her abduction. The hazy memories of being dragged away replayed in her mind, snippets of the words leverage and werewolf standing out. She didn't fully understand what those words meant in this context, but she figured they weren't good news.

Kali finally stepped closer, her arms folded and her scowl deepening. "You have no idea, do you?"

Quinn tilted her head, her brow furrowing. "No," she admitted with complete sincerity.

Kali's sharp laugh echoed through the room, causing Ennis to let out a low, rumbling chuckle. The two of them exchanged glances, their amusement tinged with disbelief.

"She's serious," Ennis said, his tone laced with astonishment.

Kali smirked, leaning down to look Quinn in the eye. "You really don't know why you're here, do you? What do you mean to the people we're dealing with?"

Quinn scrunched her nose in confusion. "I mean, I've got a pretty decent GPA and I make killer brownies, but... no, I'm drawing a blank here."

Kali stared at her for a moment, her hardened exterior softening just slightly. There was something oddly endearing about the girl's obliviousness as if she were entirely untouched by the gravity of her circumstances. It was disarming in a way Kali hadn't expected.

Ennis, on the other hand, saw potential. This girl was easy to manipulate, her innocence a weapon waiting to be wielded. If handled correctly, she could be an asset—or at the very least, a tool to get what they wanted.

Quinn's gaze darted between them, her unease growing. "So, uh, are you guys gonna keep staring at me, or are you gonna tell me what's going on?"

Kali smirked again, straightening up. "Oh, don't worry," she said with a dark chuckle. "You'll figure it out soon enough."

Quinn swallowed hard, her confidence wavering as the oppressive atmosphere of the room closed in around her. The air felt heavy, like the calm before a storm, and her instincts screamed at her to brace for something she couldn't see coming. Her fingers fidgeted against the chair she was bound to, the rough texture of the ropes biting into her skin serving as a sharp reminder of her vulnerability.

Kali tilted her head, observing her captive with a mixture of amusement and calculation. "You're not as clueless as you pretend to be, are you?" she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "Somewhere in that little head of yours, you must have an inkling of why you're here."

Quinn's lips parted as if to respond, but no words came out. The truth was, she didn't know. The fragmented conversations she'd overheard during her abduction hinted at something much bigger than herself, but the specifics were maddeningly out of reach. All she had were snippets: leverage, werewolves, danger. None of it made sense, and her growing headache wasn't helping.

"I... I don't understand," she stammered, her voice lacking its usual composure. "Why me? I'm not important. I'm just—"

Kali cut her off with a sharp laugh, a sound that sent a chill down Quinn's spine. "Not important?" she repeated, stepping closer until she was towering over the girl. "You're more important than you think, sweetheart. To some people, anyway."

Ennis, who had been leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, pushed off and approached with slow, deliberate steps. His massive frame cast a long shadow over Quinn, and his piercing eyes locked onto hers. "She's got that 'deer in headlights' look," he remarked gruffly, his lips curving into a predatory smirk. "Makes me wonder how someone so oblivious has managed to survive this long."

Quinn felt her pulse quicken, her heart thundering in her chest. She hated feeling cornered, hated how powerless she was in this moment. But what scared her the most was the growing realization that whatever was happening wasn't just about her—it was about the people she cared about. People who, for some reason, had been dragged into a world she didn't even know existed.

"I don't know what you think I can do for you," she said, forcing her voice to steady even as fear gripped her. "But you've got the wrong person. I'm just... normal."

Kali arched an eyebrow, her expression unreadable. "Normal, huh?" she mused. "Let me ask you this, then: if you're so 'normal,' why is everyone we want to break bending over backwards to keep you out of harm's way?"

Quinn froze. The implication in Kali's words was like a slap to the face. She wasn't just a random victim. She was a pawn, a piece on a chessboard she didn't even know existed. And the stakes, whatever they were, were far higher than she could have imagined.

Ennis let out a low chuckle, his amusement only adding to her unease. "You've got no idea how much leverage you've got, kid," he said, shaking his head. "But don't worry—we'll make sure you figure it out soon enough."

Quinn's stomach churned, her mind racing with questions and fears she couldn't voice. She wanted to scream, to fight, to do something, but the weight of the situation kept her rooted in place. Whatever game these people were playing, she was in the centre of it—and she wasn't sure she'd make it out unscathed.