The stone was heavier than it had looked in my vision.
My fingers, slick with sweat and my own blood, slipped twice against the rough granite before I managed to get a grip on the edge of the loose slab. Every pull sent a jagged line of fire through my lower abdomen, a terrifying reminder of the cost of my forced vision. The heavy, warm wetness between my thighs was a constant, silent scream that I was putting the pregnancy in lethal danger.
With a final, desperate grunt that tasted of iron, I wrenched the stone back.
A narrow, dark shaft opened up beneath the cell floor. Without hesitating, I slid my legs into the hole and let myself drop.
I fell about six feet, landing hard on a cold, muddy ground. I hissed in pain, my hands flying to protect my stomach. The air down here smelled of
