My hands are shaking as I carefully work my wrists against the stone again. The remaining fibers of rope give way with a soft snap, and suddenly, my arms are free. I have to bite back a gasp of relief as I bring my hands around to my front, my shoulders screaming in protest after being held in that position for so long.
My wrists are a mess—torn skin and dried blood caked around deep rope burns—but I’m free.
I quickly untie the restraints around my ankles, my fingers clumsy but determined. The moment I’m completely unbound, I surge to my feet, swaying slightly as blood rushes back to my extremities.
I pace the small confines of my cell like a caged animal, my mind racing. Where am I? Who has imprisoned me? And why?
Who were those two people? And what do they even want with me? The woma
