Chapter seven
"Lilly," someone whispers softly, the voice cutting through the fog in my mind. "Lilly," they say again, more urgently this time. I recognize the voice, but my sluggish mind can't place who it belongs to. "Lilly, please wake up."
The desperation in their tone stirs something in me, and with effort, I force my eyes open. The light even though it was faint burns at first, and I blink against it, disoriented. When my vision clears, I see
Alissa—my heart stumbles in shock. But then, as the world around me sharpens, I realize it isn't her. It's Savannah.
For a moment, I feel like I've woken up in the afterlife.
"Savannah?" My voice cracks, barely a whisper. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she says quickly, relief flooding her face. "I woke up two dinners ago."
Her words don't make sense, and I stare at her, confused. Two days? That's how long have I been unconscious?
"When I woke up," she continues, her voice tight with worry, "I found you lying there. You kept slipping in and out of consciousness. I tried calling you, shaking you, but… it was like you were here one moment and gone the next. I was so scared."
I can see the fear in her eyes, the way her hands tremble slightly as she clasps them together.
"I'm fine," I lie, though the heaviness in my body tells me otherwise. My limbs ache with a dull, relentless throb, but it's more manageable than before. Bracing myself, I push against the ground, struggling to sit up.
The first thing I notice is the
unfamiliarity of my surroundings. My heart sinks as I take it all in-looming shadows, walls I don't recognize, and the heavy presence of silence, broken only by distant murmurs.
And then I see it.
We're not alone.
I freeze, stunned as my gaze sweeps the room. Dozens of faces, strangers, all huddled together in small groups, some murmuring, others staring blankly. The air is thick with the scent of fear and despair.
And then I notice the bars.
"We're in a cage?" I whisper, the words barely leaving my lips. My stomach churns as the realization hits.
Savannah nods grimly. "I don't know where we are or who brought us here, but… look." She gestures subtly to the figures surrounding the cage—guards. Armed, vigilant, and watching us like predators sizing up their prey.
A shiver runs down my spine. The enormity of the situation sinks in.
Savannah crouches beside me, her hand brushing against my shoulder."Are you sure you're okay?" she whispers, her voice barely audible over the distant murmurs of the guards. I nod weakly, but my gaze drifts to the shadows of the cage. The air smells damp and metallic, and the faint flicker of a single light bulb above us casts unsettling shadows against the bars.
"I don't understand," Savannah says, her voice trembling. "Where are we?"
I shake my head, my throat tight. The pain in my body has dulled slightly, replaced by a gnawing fear. I glance around, taking in the others trapped here with us. There are maybe five or six people, scattered across the cage like broken dolls, their faces hollowed, their movements sluggish. No one speaks. It's as if the air itself forbids sound, as though even the slightest noise might invite punishment.
Savannah clutches my arm suddenly, her nails digging into my skin. "That man," she mutters, nodding toward the far corner.
I follow her gaze. At first, I don't see anyone—just a shapeless heap of rags slumped against the bars, motionless in the dim light. But then, I realize it's not rags at all. It's a man. His face is obscured beneath a tangled mess of gray, matted hair, his body curled in on itself like he's trying to disappear. His arms, frail and stick-thin, wrap tightly around his knees as though they're the only thing holding him together.
I stare harder, waiting for the faint rise and fall of his chest, but nothing comes. For a moment, I wonder if he's even alive. The stillness of his form, the eerie quiet surrounding him, makes my breath catch. Then, almost imperceptibly, his fingers twitch—a slow, deliberate movement that sends a chill down my spine.
"Do you think he's…?" Savannah trails off, her voice barely a whisper.
"Dead? No ." I finish for her. My voice cracks, and I swallow hard.
As if hearing us, the man stirs. Slowly, his head tilts upward, revealing sunken eyes and a face so weathered it looks like it's been carved from stone. His gaze locks onto mine, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. There's something in his eyes—a depth of anguish and knowing that chills me to the bone.
"Don't stare," Savannah whispers urgently, tugging at my arm.
But I can't look away. The man's lips part, and for a moment, I think he's going to speak. Instead, he lowers his head again, retreating back into himself like a turtle into its shell.
Savannah exhales shakily. "Maybe we should just leave him alone."
"Maybe," I murmur, but something about him feels… i don't know . Like he knows something. Like he's seen things we haven't. Those eyes… they've seen much more than just death.
Hours—or maybe minutes—pass. Time blurs in this place, the silence broken only by the occasional bark of a guard or the rattle of keys. Savannah paces back and forth, her bare feet making soft, uneven sounds against the cold, hard floor. Her movements are restless, frantic, like she's trying to outpace her own thoughts. I sit quietly, my mind working to stitch together fragments of information, but nothing makes sense. In the corner, the man doesn't stir—a figure frozen in shadow, as if the world around him no longer matters.
Finally, Savannah crouches beside me again. "What do you think they want with us?" she whispers.
I don't answer, because I don't know. Instead, my eyes drift back to the man. His scars catch the faint light now, pale ridges cutting across his wrists and forearms. I shudder. I see it—a thick black steel bracelet clamped so tightly around his forearm that the skin beneath is red and swollen with irritation.
Suddenly, his voice slices through the silence, rough and gravelly. "You won't last long if you keep whispering and pacing around like a stray looking for scraps."
Savannah freezes, her eyes wide. I turn toward the man, unsure if I heard him correctly.
"You're drawing attention," he adds, his voice like gravel grinding against itself.
"We're just… trying to figure out what's going on," Savannah says hesitantly.
He chuckles, though there's no humor in it. "What's going on? You're in hell, that's what."
Savannah and I exchange a glance, and then I muster the courage to speak. "How long have you been here?"
He lifts his head, his gaze piercing. "Long enough to know the rules." He gestures to the guards with a slight tilt of his chin. "They don't like chatter. Don't give them a reason to notice you."
Savannah folds her arms, her voice defensive. "And what happens if they do?"
The man leans back against the bars, his movements slow and deliberate. "They take you," he says simply.
"Take you where?" I ask, my stomach twisting.
His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see something flicker there—pity, maybe, or regret. "To the lab ."
The word hangs in the air like a curse.
"What do they do there?" Savannah asks, her voice trembling.
His lips curl into something resembling a smile, though it's more like a grimace. "You really want to know?"
Neither of us answers, but he doesn't seem to need a response. He pulls up the sleeve of his tattered shirt, revealing a patchwork of scars—some faded, others fresh. Long, jagged lines crisscross his forearm, and circular burns mar his skin like cigarette brands.
"They call it 'experiments," he says bitterly. "But it's just torture. Testing how much pain our body can endure before it breaks. Testing chemicals, drugs, tools. Sometimes… worse."
Savannah recoils, her hand flying to her mouth. I feel bile rise in my throat but force it down.
"And the ones they don't take to the lab ," he continues, his voice quieter now, "most of them… you never see them again. "
For a moment, none of us speak. The weight of his words presses down on me, suffocating.
"What's your name?" I ask finally, my voice barely above a whisper.
The man hesitates, as if he hasn't heard his own name in years. "Will," he says at last.
"I'm Lilly," I say, and my voice shakes despite myself. "This is Savannah."
He nods faintly, then leans back against the bars, his eyes closing. "Get some rest," he murmurs. "You'll need it."
"For what?" Savannah asks, her voice breaking.
But Will doesn't answer. His breathing evens out, leaving us with only the faint hum of the guards' voices and the unbearable weight of what he's just told us.