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The walls were stone and poured concrete, and there were no windows and no overhead lights. The only light in the room was from the small lantern the boy had brought with him through the doorway. It smelled so intensely of wet dirt that it was almost overwhelming.

My head pounded, the small light enough to worsen the ache. I reached up to rub the tender portion of my head, and a gasp fell from my lips when my fingers found my strands of hair—my roughly cut strands of hair that were only an inch long.

“What the hell?” I mumbled, feeling around my head, feeling it was all cut off.

The boy’s face turned sad as he looked at me. “He doesn’t like long hair. You're luckier than most. He didn’t have his razor with him when he brought you—just the scissors.”

“Who are you?” I asked, confused by this boy and everything surrounding me.

“Silas,” he answered calmly.

My heart stopped, but I didn’t know why. I knew that name, but I couldn’t remember how. Why couldn’t I remember how? My mind was mush, the blow to my head doing more damage than I had realized. “Silas?”

He nodded. “Silas,” he affirmed.

I looked at him again. Really looked at him—at his dark, short hair and his grey eyes I had seen before. Where had I seen them before?

I had a million questions, but one came to the top of the list. “Where are we?”

“The rooms, I told you…”

I cut him off with the raise of my hands. “Where are the rooms? Where is this place? What city are we in? What state? Hell… what country?”

He looked at my face with genuine confusion. “We’re in the rooms.”

I took a steadying breath, dropping that line of questioning for now. His answers made no sense to me, and my mind was already struggling to make sense of what was happening. “How did I get here?”

“He brought you. You were asleep… unconscious, I mean,” Silas explained.

A stone of dread dropped in my stomach, the weight of the world crashing in. “Who is he?”

“Father.”

“Your dad?”

Silas’s face grew pensive, and he shook his head adamantly. “No… not my dad. He’s Father. That’s what I have to call him.”

“Okay,” I sighed and rubbed the heels of my hands over my eyes. “Okay, you’re Silas?” He nodded. “How long have you been here?”

He shrugged. “Forever.”

I closed my eyes, hating his words with every piece of who I was. I reached out instinctively and took his hand in my own. He jumped up, breaking my grip and backing away. My eyes flew open and went to him. “Are you okay?”

His eyes were wide in panic, and he didn’t speak. I didn’t push him. He was deeply damaged; it was obvious. But I didn’t have time to figure out how, exactly. I took a deep breath and started making a mental list:

I needed to figure out where I was.

I needed to figure out how I got here.

I needed to figure out how to get out of here.

“Can we leave the rooms?” I finally asked Silas. If he couldn’t tell me where we were, I would figure it out myself.

He nodded. “We can leave.”

I stood and wobbled, my vision spinning. I rubbed my head again, my heart cracking a bit at my cut hair. My stomach churned as the world danced. “Shit,” I mumbled and tried to steady myself.

Silas rushed to my side, tentatively grabbing my arm to steady me. “You’re…” He paused, trying to find the right word. “…broken?”