I followed behind Torrey through the subterranean corridor and up the flight of stairs.
I had no idea where he was headed.
Walking softly, I maintained a distance that was neither too close nor too far, afraid of being discovered by him.
Torrey seemed to be in a good mood, humming a cheerful little tune, completely unaware of my presence behind him.
The corridor was lined with identical wooden doors on either side, and occasionally, the cries of women could be heard.
In the dim light of the underground, I couldn’t see what was inside, only vaguely making out some shadows and straw scattered on the ground.
As I turned a corner, I noticed a pile of discarded black fabric, similar in texture to the clothes I had washed on my first day.
My palms were sweaty, and my heart pounded wildly.
