I woke to cold stone and the taste of iron.
My mouth was dry. Not from thirst—though I would kill for a glass of water—but from the gag tied too tight behind my teeth. Cloth. Rough. Blood had soaked through the corner of it and dried against my chin. I couldn't tell if it was mine, and that was the thing that was bothering me the most.
I didn't try to move right away. The chains on my wrists would clatter if I did, and I wasn't ready to give them the satisfaction. So I kept my head down and let my eyes adjust to the dim light.
A cavern.
Rough-hewn walls, low ceiling, torchlight flickering against rock damp with moss and rot. The air was thick. Still. The kind of quiet that only existed deep underground—where no one could hear you scream, no matter how loud you got.
And he was there.
Zhu Lianhua.
