Within

three

Ariana woke up to the sound of dripping water, the dull, rhythmic plink echoing in her ears as she slowly regained consciousness. Her head throbbed with a sharp, pulsing pain that made it hard to focus, and the back of her throat burned with the bitter taste of chemicals. She was lying on a cold, hard, concrete floor, she realised as her eyes fluttered open, the dim light revealing the grim reality of her surroundings.

She was in a cell. A small, dank room with iron bars on one side and solid concrete walls on the other three. The only light came from a single, flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling just outside the cell, casting long, distorted shadows that danced eerily across the walls.

The air was heavy with the scent of mildew and something else, something metallic and faintly coppery.

Blood. The smell of dried blood. She could feel it caked on her skin, her hands and arms smeared with dark stains that had hardened into a crust. The memories came flooding back, of the Saviour's, the leader's mocking grin, the feel of the chloroform-soaked rag against her face as everything went black.

She pushed herself up into a sitting position, her body aching with every movement. Her head spun, but she forced herself to stay upright, to stay alert. This wasn't the time to show weakness. Not here. Not now.

"Good. You're awake."

The voice was low and she turned her head to see two men standing just outside the cell. One of them, with a scarred face and a cigarette dangling from his lips, was leaning casually against the bars, watching her with an expression that was equal parts curiosity and disdain. The other man, taller and broader, that she recognised from before as the leader of the men she met outside stood just behind him, his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face.

"Must've hit your head pretty hard when they grabbed you." The man with the scar lied, his tone almost conversational as he took a drag from his cigarette. "Been out for a while now. Thought we'd lost ya for a second."

Ariana glared at him, her mind still groggy but clear enough to know that she needed to stay sharp.

"I'm harder to kill than I look." She murmured, her voice raspy but playful.

"What's your name?" He asked casually. "I'm Dwight. This here is Simon."

Simon stepped forward, his scowl deepening as he stared down at Ariana through the bars.

"Where are you from?" He demanded, his tone hard and impatient.

She didn't answer, instead meeting his gaze with silent defiance. She wasn't about to give these assholes anything, not her name, not where she was from, and certainly not any information that could endanger the people back in Alexandria.

Simon's eyes narrowed at her silence, and he nodded to Dwight, who flicked the cigarette butt to the floor and stepped closer, his face inches from the bars now.

"We know you're from one of those little communities out there." Dwight said, his voice deceptively soft. "Tell us which one, and maybe we'll go easy on you."

"Go easy on me?" She echoed, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Wow, thanks, that sounds like such a great deal. Where do I sign up? Shall I grovel now or do you want me to wait?"

Simon's jaw clenched, his patience clearly wearing thin.

"This isn't a game." He snapped. "You tell us what we want to know, or things are going to get very unpleasant for you."