The hours crawled by in the darkness of the cage.
I had lost count of how many times the guards had walked past our cell, their iron masks glinting in the green torchlight and their whips crackling with that sickly energy. They did not look at us and they did not speak to us.
We were just bodies to them, inventory waiting to be used and to die.
Elena sat beside me with her back against the cold iron bars and her eyes closed, her breathing slow and steady. Dorian stood at the front of the cage with his massive hands wrapped around the rusted bars and his head bowed.
I did not know how long we waited.
An hour, maybe two. The green torches never changed, and there was no sun to mark the passage of time. There was only the darkness and the sounds of the dying and the slow, steady drip of water somewhere in the distance.
_
Deep in the labor tunnels, Ren swung his pickaxe against the stone wall with the rhythm of a man who had resigned himself to death.
