CLARE – POV
I woke to the sound of dripping.
Not water — thicker. Slower. Wet, rhythmic splatters echoing off stone.
My eyes fluttered open, then immediately squeezed shut again. The dim torchlight stung, and the air… gods, the air was wrong. Not just cold — rotten. Like mold and meat and the acidic burn of old blood.
I was lying on my side. Bars curved around me. Iron. Thick. Close together. A cage.
A dog cage.
No… bigger than that.
For something bigger.
Like me.
Voices muttered beyond the bars. Low. Gravelly. Foreign. The kind of language that slithered through the ear canal like oil and left you feeling filthy just for hearing it.
I opened my eyes again — slowly this time.
They were going to tear me apart.
