My hands burned with every strike against the door, each impact sending waves of pain through my bleeding fingers. How long had I been pounding? Minutes? Hours? Time had lost all meaning in this dark cell.
"Isabella," Clara rasped from behind me, her voice weak. "You're going to hurt yourself worse. It's no use."
I ignored her, slamming my fist against the wood again. My earlier discovery about the rotting frame had given me new determination. With each blow, tiny flecks of wood crumbled away, but not enough—nowhere near enough.
"I have to try," I panted, resting my forehead against the door for a moment. "I can't just wait here to die."
Clara shifted on the ground, wincing as she tried to sit up straighter. "You've been at it for hours. You need to rest."
My shoulders slumped with exhaustion. She was right. My body was screaming for relief, my hands swollen and throbbing. I slid down against the door, pulling my knees to my chest.
