The basement was quieter than ever during the day, the usual groans and shifting of the other captives replaced by a heavy, tense silence. Hunger had sharpened every edge of the room—the air felt thick, almost tangible, and every movement carried the weight of exhaustion.
I shifted against the cold stone floor, brushing damp hair out of my eyes, and glanced at the others. Clara curled up in her corner, eyes half-lidded; Jacob rubbed at his face, trying to wake from the daze; Kael sat cross-legged, staring blankly at the wall. Everyone was too tired to speak, too weak to move.
I exhaled slowly, steadying my voice. "We should… sleep in different spots tonight," I said quietly, careful that Lorian—the kidnapper—heard without reacting too strongly. "If we spread out, we won't wake each other. We'll get more rest… maybe even think more clearly."
Jacob frowned. "Separate? Won't that make it harder to keep watch?"
I shook my head. "No. Not if we're careful. We can see a little from every spot, and no one will bump into anyone. It's safer. Everyone's calmer when they sleep."
Clara glanced at me, concern clear in her eyes. "Even you?"
I forced a small, tight smile. "Especially me," I murmured. "If we're too close, someone might wake me—or worse, I'll wake them."
Lorian's gaze flicked toward me—sharp, assessing—but he said nothing, tilting his head once before resuming pacing in his usual corner. The tension in his posture was barely visible, but I felt it.
By nightfall, the others had curled up in far corners of the room as I suggested. I chose a spot closer to where Lorian usually stood, near the wall he often leaned against. Close enough to feel the weight of his presence without inviting suspicion.
Sleep didn't come easily. My stomach twisted painfully with hunger, but I forced my body to appear calm. Shadows stretched long across the floor, and I let my gaze wander toward him.
The nightmare hit just after midnight. Dark, suffocating images of chains, screaming, and emptiness overtook me. I woke with a start, sweat clinging to my hair, heart hammering. Lorian was already there, standing a few feet away, watching. His eyes met mine immediately.
I froze. My chest tightened. Even in the dim light, I could feel the weight of his gaze, sharp and assessing, but strangely… careful.
"Mornin'," I whispered, voice trembling slightly despite my effort to sound casual.
He tilted his head, expression neutral. "Mornin'," he replied.
I pressed my fingers to my palms, grounding myself. "Bad dream," I murmured. "Just… running in circles. Nothing moves. Nothing changes."
He didn't answer immediately, only observed. Finally, he said, measured: "Dreams are weaker than reality."
I tilted my head, hiding a small smirk. "Maybe… but sometimes they show you what you don't want to face."
He said nothing, only watched. The shadow of his presence felt both dangerous and… strangely protective.
I took a deep breath, testing the quiet intimacy of the night. "Do you… have a name?" I asked softly.
His eyes snapped to mine, then away. "Why would you care?" His voice was low, clipped.
"Just… polite," I said. "Names make it easier… human."
He hesitated, jaw flexing slightly, and finally, in a voice low and controlled: "Lorian."
I repeated it softly. "Lorian. That suits you."
A faint twitch at the corner of his mouth suggested amusement, or approval. Then I whispered, "I'm Leah."
He glanced at me again, brief but unguarded this time. "Leah," he repeated, voice clipped but testing the sound.
I smiled faintly, curling slightly against the wall. "Nice to meet you… Lorian," I said, voice soft.
I let a pause settle over the room, letting our silence speak for us. Then, quietly, I asked, "What are you going to do with us?"
Lorian's eyes narrowed slightly. A slow motion, almost casual, but my stomach tightened. In one swift movement, he pulled a knife from his belt. My breath hitched—I flinched, instinctively looking away, heart hammering.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said quickly, almost apologetic, voice low.
I swallowed, forcing a small smile. "I know… just… past experiences," I murmured, voice soft.
He studied me, the knife still in his hand but angled harmlessly. Then he gave a small nod, almost imperceptible, and let the tension slip from his shoulders.
I let out a slow breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "Thank you," I whispered, soft but genuine.
For a long moment, we sat like that—quiet, shadows stretching across the floor, only the faint sound of our breathing filling the space. Then I tilted my head, curious. "Why… do you watch us so closely?"
He glanced at me briefly, jaw tight. "Because weakness is costly," he said, clipped, controlled. Then he added softly, almost to himself, "And you… you're different."
I raised an eyebrow, hiding the shiver that ran down my spine. "Different how?" I asked, voice light.
He didn't answer immediately, only watched. Finally: "You notice things. You understand danger. You… adapt."
I smirked faintly. "Maybe I just have to, to survive."
A small silence fell, punctuated by the faint breathing of the others asleep in the far corners. I shifted slightly, letting my body relax just a little. "So… you have a name now, and I have one. Does that mean we're… even?"
His gaze flicked to mine, the barest twitch at the corner of his lips betraying amusement. He didn't answer, only returned to silence, steady, controlling, and somehow… comforting.
I leaned back, eyelids heavy from exhaustion. Somehow, despite the fear, the hunger, and the darkness, a strange warmth settled over me. The flutter in my chest made me realize… maybe, just maybe, I liked his attention.
And in the quiet, shadows stretching across the basement, I let myself drift toward sleep, knowing he was watching, steady and silent. My lips curved into a small, private smile, and I felt a flutter of hope that was dangerous—and thrilling—at the same time.