Chapter 4: Prison Time 2.0
The iron door groans as it swings open, and for the first time in days, I step beyond the confines of my cell. My legs protest, stiff and weak, but I force them to move. At least my headache has subsided; that's a plus.
An Inquisitor grips my arm, dragging me forward after he unlocked the chains binding me, while another walks behind me silent, watchful; neither is the guard I was accustomed to seeing bring me my daily slop. How cliché.
The air outside the cell is thick with dampness and decay, carrying the scent of mildew, sweat, and old blood. The corridor ahead is narrow, carved from dark stone, its walls lined with iron sconces flickering with pale, sickly flames. The light barely reaches the arched ceiling, where long cracks slither like veins through the rock. Every step we take echoes, swallowed by the oppressive silence of the dungeon.
I take a breath, swallowing the dryness in my throat. The water I've been drinking did almost nothing to quench my thirst.
"Where are you taking me?" My voice is hoarse, raw from days of silence.
No response. The Inquisitors keep marching, their grip on my arms like iron.
I grit my teeth. "At least tell me who's waiting for me. I know it's some elite."
The Inquisitor to my right exhales sharply, annoyed. Then, without warning, a fist slams into my stomach.
Pain detonates through my ribs, and I double over, choking on air that won't come. My knees almost buckle, but the guard yanks me upright before I can fall.