They come for me.
Chapter
Two
My door swings open with a high-pitched whine. It bounces against the stone, echoing ominously.
A guard fills the doorway, his silhouette lit by the bright lights in the hall.
I wonder if they rehearse this nonsense.
“Ready to talk?” he asks. He’s younger than I expected an interrogator to be, but the scent of anticipation that lays upon his skin is all the indication I need to know that he derives pleasure from watching another suffer. I assume that’s why he was chosen—or volunteered—for this particular role.
Go fuck yourself,I think fiercely. But I keep my gaze fixed on the floor, saying nothing. I’ve learned quickly that any response only encourages him to become more creative with his interrogation techniques.
“The silent treatment again? That’s fine. We’ve got all the time in the world.” The slot slams shut, and his footsteps retreat.
I close my eyes, allowing myself to slump back onto the floor.
Thank the gods.
It seems I’ve been spared more torture—for today, at least.
A soft sound from the adjoining cell makes me freeze. It’s barely audible, just a faint whisper that seems to be coming from near the floor. But in the oppressive silence of the facility, it might as well have been a shout.
I’m not alone.
“Silence doesn’t work, you know.” The voice comes again, barely more than a breath. Male, rough with exhaustion and resignation. “Trust me, I’ve tried.”
I drop to my hands and knees, searching the base of the wall between our cells. There, near the corner where shadows are deepest, I find it. A hole no bigger than my fist, carved carefully through the stone. The edges are jagged, as if they’ve fortuitously crumbled rather than been carved out purposefully.
I press my face close to the opening but don’t respond. Is this a trap? Or is my new neighbor as innocent in this mess as I am?
“Come on, I know you’re there.” His tone is mocking, but there’s a desperate edge to his words. “What’s the worst that could happen? They torture you? Beat the shit out of you? Pretty sure that’s already on today’s schedule.”
Still, I remain silent, letting this wolf fill the silence.
“Let me guess,” the voice continues. “You’re weighing your options. You’re wondering if I’m friend or foe, and trying to decide if talking to me is worth the risk.” A pause, and when he speaks again, there’s something raw in his voice. “News flash, I’m neither. I’m a fucking dead man walking. So might as well talk to me before I die.”
That last admission catches me off guard. I can smell his pain through the hole, the blood and infection bitter in my nostrils.
This is either the most sophisticated trap I’ve ever encountered, or this man is genuinely a prisoner.
Despite myself, I find myself responding. “You talk a lot for a dead man walking.”
A laugh, harsh and bitter. “A she-wolf then? Well, isn’t this a treat.”
“Want to die faster? Keep it up.”
He chuckles. “Death starts to lose its sting when it keeps standing you up.”
I shuffle closer. “How long have you been here?”
“Long enough to know that they don’t kill you quickly. And apparently, I’m very hard to kill. What about you? Fresh meat, by the sound of it.”
I bristle at the casual way he assesses me. “I’m not telling you shit.”
“Smart. Trust no one, suspect everyone. That’s survival 101 in this place.” He sighs. “So what shall we talk about then? The weather? How are you finding the food down here? I myself had a three-course meal made by a private chef last night.”
