Days went by in a haze of anxiety and expectation. Samantha avoided eye contact and refused to chat even though she offered me food and drink.
She obviously was battling with something, but I couldn't reach her. Not just physically but also emotionally, I felt imprisoned, as though I were caught in a dream from which there was no release.
Then one evening, everything changed.
Trying to sleep on the chilly, hard floor of my cell, I heard activity outside. Steps, conversations, the sound of something weighted being hauled. My heart surged, and I hurried to get to my feet, ear to the door.
"Bring her here," a voice said to Lydia.
Two guards emerged from the pulled open door carrying a limp person between them. My breath seized in my throat when I identified the figure. Samantha was there
