The silence that followed my question was heavy.
Mira pulled her knees close to her chest, wrapping her arms round her legs as she rested her chin on her knees. She stared down at the floor, her red hair falling over her face like a curtain she was hiding behind. I could tell she hadn't expected me to ask, or maybe she had, and just wasn't ready to answer.
I didn't push her.
After everything I had just cried through, I understood what it meant to not be ready.
The small room was quiet except for the distant sound of footsteps in the corridor outside and the occasional muffled cry from another slave room somewhere down the hall. The air was quite cold, and the single weak light above us kept flickering every few minutes like it was threatening to give up at any moment.
After what seeme
