The air was thick with the stench of rusted metal and rotting wood. A single, flickering bulb dangled from the ceiling, casting weak, trembling light over the damp concrete floor. The chains around my wrists were ice-cold, biting into my skin as I shifted. My whole body ached, each bruise and wound screaming in protest at even the slightest movement.
I had stopped counting the days long ago. Time had lost its meaning in this place. There was only darkness, hunger, and the slow, crushing weight of hopelessness.
Somewhere outside the small, rusted door, footsteps echoed in the hallway. My breath caught in my throat. Was it him again? The thought sent a shiver through me.
I didn't dare move. I had learned that lesson the hard way. But then, a sound broke the silence—a whisper.
"Are you awake?"
A girl's voice. Soft, hesitant.
I turned my head slowly. In the dim light, I could barely make out her face. Her hair was unkempt, her lips cracked from dehydration. She was as broken as I was.
"What's your name?" she asked, her voice barely louder than the distant dripping of water.
I hesitated. When was the last time someone had asked for my name? When was the last time I had spoken it aloud?
"…I don't remember," I murmured.
Her gaze lingered on me for a moment, then she gave a weak, sad smile. "Then I'll give you one."
She shifted closer, her chains rattling against the floor. I could feel her warmth despite the cold. A strange feeling stirred in my chest—something I hadn't felt in so long.
Hope.