The smell of the cloth was still stuck in my throat cloying, sweet, and chemical. I woke up with my head throbbing, the rhythm of my blood sounding like a hammer against a lead pipe. I wasn't in a cage or a basement. I was in the back of a luxury SUV, the leather seats cold and expensive against my skin.
I looked up, my vision blurring. Elias was sitting across from me, staring out at the passing streetlights of central Dodoma. He looked different. The desperation I’d seen in the cave was gone, replaced by a cold, sharp precision. He looked like a man who had finally come home.
"You're awake," he said, not turning his head.
"You drugged me," I croaked, my throat feeling like it was lined with sandpaper. "After everything... you handed me back to the Ministry. My own husband."
"I saved
