When Sophia woke, she was greeted by a headache the size of Belize. She probed through damp hair and was relieved to find no sign of head injury.
She was in a small room with nothing in the way of comfort, or design. Concrete walls, ceiling and floor, no paint, and one closed door. There was a water canteen beside her, but she daren’t drink from it.
Screw it, if they wanted her dead she would be already.
Seizing the canteen, she made every effort to sip slowly, and did so until it was empty. Sitting up, she noticed she was lying on an army issue sleeping bag spread across a bed frame. They’d even given her a small travel pillow. She’d been stripped of all her own possessions except essential clothing—still damp to the touch. She stank of sweat.
The door opened. A woman stood there, una
