TURNING TABLES
Mathilda’s POV
Time has become a distorted thing in this cage. After what feels like five grueling hours then there is a sharp intrusive trill of a phone ringing.
Outside my bars, the casual, rowdy atmosphere of the card game vanishes instantly. The scraping of heavy chairs against the floor and the sudden ceasing of laughter tells me everything I need to know about the hierarchy here. The boss is calling. I remain perfectly still, my cheek pressed against the cold, I am playing the part of the broken, unconscious victim, a role is necessary for my survival.
I haven’t been able to glean much useful information from the meatheads out there while they played their endless rounds of cards. They are disciplined enough to keep the sensitive details close to the chest, but the
