Eirik nodded as he motioned for the guard to step aside. He gripped the cold iron bars of the small window, and he peered inside. The stale air reeked of dampness and despair, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight that met his eyes.
His breath hitched, a sharp, involuntary reaction.
The torchlight flickered against the damp stone walls, casting fleeting shadows over the figure slumped in the corner of the cell. Sadiki. The name felt foreign as Eirik stared at the broken man before him. Once a proud, sharp-eyed Sadiki, was now reduced to a mere shell of himself.
Eirik's fingers tightened around the bars, his knuckles whitening. Sadiki's frame was gaunt, his skin stretched taut over sharp bones. His clothes, torn and stained, clung to him like rags. Bruises in various stages of healing marred his face, while dried blood crusted along his temple and lips. His hair hung in unkempt strands, hiding the expression Eirik was almost afraid to see.
