Finally, Antonin reappears. I release my breath, trying to act as though I wasn’t scared at all. Antonin frowns, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he beckons me forward. I follow after him as he leads me out into the candle lit, damp halls.
Cells line the halls, but most of them are empty. I suppose Antonin is right, they only use them for a few petty criminals.
Then what were the screams?
We pass a single cell with a weak man inside. His ribs stick through his shirt, his cheekbones slicing through his skin. I stumble over my own feet, stopping in front of the bars of his cell.
“What is your name?” The words tumble from my mouth before I can think about them.
The man blinks at me, “I’m sorry?” His voice is rich with an Italian accent.
“I was just wondering whether—”
Antonin grabs m
