Watson
I’m in The Pool.
It seems smaller than I remember. Even though it’s empty for now, it’s still somehow suffocating. Each of my breaths echo, each of my blinks. They’ve got me bound to a chair with iron chains, the legs of which are weighted to the floor. Seems a bit of overkill in my opinion, but I’m not in much of a position to argue. At least the ceiling is silent.
I’ve done an amicable job of staying calm, despite it not being one of my strong suits under the very best of circumstances. This, of course, is not the very best of circumstances. I only cracked once, when they brought Key in, weeping and shaking and cringing away from the gun they held pressed to her head. I had screamed. I’m not ashamed to admit it.
It took only a moment to realize the error, though. I should have
