The basement didn't just smell like death, it smelled like the weight of it.
Mia sat on the damp stone floor of the cage, her arms wrapped tightly around children who were shaking so hard their teeth clattered. The darkness was thick, oily, and broken only by the distant, wet sounds of dripping water and the occasional muffled sob from the other kids huddled in the corner.
"Big sis Mia... are they going to eat us?" a small boy whispered, his voice small and cracking.
Mia felt a sob rising in her own throat, but she swallowed it down until it burned. She forced her face into a calm mask—the kind of smile Marta used to wear when the winter winds grew too cold.
"No, silly," she whispered, stroking his matted hair. "They just want to scare us. But we aren't scared, right? We are Wayford kids. We're tough."
"Big sis Mia... I want to go home," Lily whimpered, her small fingers digging into Mia's tunic. "It's too dark. I can't see the stars anymore."
