Yelena was plopped down unceremoniously (again), but this time, at least, she was deposited on a surface somewhat softer than a car trunk or the hard, rocky ground. The sofa was no more comforting, however, for its softness; being inside could only mean one thing: Madeleine was ready to continue whatever plans she’d made, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that, whatever the kidnapper had in store, Madame Naumov wouldn’t enjoy it.<br/><br/>She gasped in relief, all the same, as her hood was removed, the gag still restricting breathing through her mouth and muffling the sound. Yelena still couldn’t speak or breathe freely, but she could<em>see,</em>and the returned sense was blissful, even if she blinked furiously in the light.<br/><br/>But what she saw with her returned vision was far from a welcoming sight. Lila, bound and gagged, on display, the poor girl’s figure lewdly made prominent by the rope’s tight caress. The expression on her face captured by Madeleine’s camera was a mixture of emotions: fear, exhaustion, anger, disgust. Maks would likely be pleased.