Again Han Hong felt the light. This time it crept softly around the edges of her blindfold. It filtered through the blackness, bringing with it coloured shapes that merged and swam. A relief. Tracing the patterns provided a brief distraction from her predicament; a glimpse of colour in a world that had become incredibly black.

But the peace, as it settled, was short-lived. Her captor broke it, his voice menacing.

‘Don’t worry, baby, you’ll do fine, you’re going to be a TV star.’

He untied her wrists and then he was upon her. His rough hands grasped her shoulders and pulled her up. She yelled out, took a stab at a fight, and stumbled on weakened legs. Her captor ignored her and half dragged her away from the wall towards the light.

Han Hong struggled, struck a hand out and touched skin, felt stubble: a face unmasked. A change in routine, an identifiable face – it could only mean they had something worse in store for her. And that perhaps her time was running out.

Fear shot through her, charging her body with a strength she thought she’d lost. She thrashed hard against her captor, twisting her shoulders in an effort to escape his grip.

‘Shit!’

Hang Hong hit the floor with her face. White pain streaked through the side of her jaw to her neck. But she’d had a win. She’d got her fingernails into his face and dug in hard. She tasted the sticky blood dripping onto her lips from her nose and felt the beginnings of a smile. She hoped she’d made him bleed.

‘Bitch.’

Rough hands removed the blindfold. Han Hong blinked, momentarily blinded. He knelt beside her, a deep scratch on his cheek. In his hands he held a leather whip. She’d seen it before; the welt on her thigh stung with the memory.

‘Okay, babe,’ he said. ‘You smile for the camera while I work at making you scream.’