First message
The cell smelled of blood and mildew, a damp chill crawling up the stone floor. Chained to the wall, my head pounded, ribs grinding with each breath. They’d worked me hard, but not enough to finish me. That was coming.
I closed my eyes, slipping toward unconsciousness, when I heard a faint scrape at the door.
I forced myself upright, nerves screaming.
The door cracked open, and a girl slipped inside. She wore a battered jacket, its sleeves covering her hands. A trembling cup of water clutched between her fingers.
For a moment, we both froze. She looked terrified, ready to bolt.
I blinked at her, unsure if she was real. A trick? Another game to break me?
Slowly, she knelt beside me, keeping as much distance as she could, and pushed the cup toward my shackled hands. Her voice was barely a breath.
“Drink.”
I hesitated — suspicion flaring out of habit — but the thirst gnawing at my throat overruled everything. I took the cup, fingers brushing hers by accident.