The heavy iron door of the cell groaned open with a grating shriek that made Clement's spine stiffen as he sat cross-legged on his narrow bed.
Three men stepped into the cramped space. Three men who didn't move or look regular prison guards.
They wore ink-black combat fatigues, their faces expressionless and their eyes, which were on Clement, dead as winter.
Clement's bunkmate darted a measured look between him and the newcomers, before scrambling backward into the corner of his mattress.
The lead soldier didn't say a word. He simply jerked his chin toward the corridor.
Without anyone telling him, Clement knew exactly who they were. These were Gianna's extraction team. They had come to drag him to the black cells.
A familiar kind of confusion warped his mind. Should he feel terrified, or should he feel relieved?
