Time operates differently in captivity. Without windows or natural light, without the rhythm of sunrise and sunset, days bleed into one another like watercolors on wet paper. The only markers are meals (if you could call them that), Victoria's "scientific" visits, and the endless, mind-numbing stretches of nothing in between.
Which is why when the guards arrived to move Damien into my cell, I initially thought I was hallucinating from boredom.
"What the hell is this?" I demanded as four armed men escorted Damien across the corridor, one of them lugging a narrow cot identical to my own.
"Cohabitation experiment," the lead guard replied flatly. He was older than the others, with salt-and-pepper hair cropped close to his scalp and the dead-eyed look of someone who'd seen too much to be sho
