The constant drip of water interrupted Brando's light, disturbed sleep. His eyes opened to find himself still trapped in the dirty, damp darkness. A faint torchlight flickered through the iron bars that blocked the room.
"Nn... what's going on?"
Brando's hoarse voice bounced off the walls, causing the people curled up in the room to groan or complain. He glanced at the shared latrine, squinting.
He'd been brought to this small stone jail without a window a little over a month ago, at least, that's roughly how long he guessed from the length of his matted beard.
Distant voices reverberated from the long tunnel.
When he pushed his face close to the bars, his body shook from the comfortable cold. Inside a room with seven men, the heat from their bodies could get unbearable. The icy iron pressing against his body, no matter how rough or painful, was a slight comfort.
'Martha, where are you!?'
