The stark, white light of the electric bulbs flickered, cutting through the heavy gloom of the corridor. Chloe Bishop watched Vince retreat, his silhouette shrinking until the heavy iron door at the far end closed with a final, echoing thud.
She was alone.
The silence was absolute, save for the rhythmic drip of condensation somewhere in the lightless void beyond the reach of the bulbs. Chloe stared at the small tray Vince had left behind—a bottle of water and a few pieces of dry bread. Her stomach cramped with hunger, and her throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper, but she only allowed herself a tiny sip of water.
In a place with no privacy and no facilities, her only defense was restraint.
As the hours crawled by, the biting cold began to seep through her jacket again. To distra
