*Ava*
The ropes bite into my wrists until my fingers tingle. I can’t move them, but the pain is sharp enough to remind me I’m still alive, for now. The air reeks of sweat and iron, the sickly sweet tang of blood hanging in it like a warning. My knees ache from the dirt-packed floor, but I don’t dare move. Any movement draws their eyes, and I’ve had enough of their eyes.
They know who I am. I see it in the smirks, the too-long glances, the muttered words that hit me like stones. One soldier leans against the wall, his arms folded, and says to the others, “That’s her, the one who sang that crazy song, kept us looking the wrong way while the gates were opened.”
Another spits on the floor near my feet. “She thought we wouldn’t find out she was working with the rebels.”
The first man grins
