RICO
The silver burns before they even touch me. That's how I know I'm in the Black Chamber. The air itself is poisoned.
I'm chained to a wall in a cell barely six feet square. Silver manacles around wrists and ankles. Silver collar around my throat. Every breath draws the metal's toxicity deeper into my lungs.
I've been here three days. I think. Hard to track time when every moment is agony.
The door opens. Vampire guard, young-looking but probably ancient. They all are.
"Feeling chatty yet?" he asks pleasantly.
I spit blood at his feet. "f**k you."
"That's not very cooperative." He tsks. "And here I thought three days would soften you up. Maybe you need another session."
Another session. That's what they call torture here. Sessions. Like we're in therapy instead of a dungeon.
"I
