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He doesn't answer, his palm sweating against my upper arm as we stalk down the corridors, staff avoiding us at all costs. I spot the basement door up ahead, the guard slouched against the frame. My feet instantly slow. I wanted to go back to the cells, but now the thought of taking a step down those stairs makes me feel sick.

"It gets easier," his voice softer, surprising me, "being here, that is." His steps match my pace, slowing to almost a crawl. He's in no rush, either.

I glance up at him, taking in his face. His jaw is sharp, his eyes dark, and his hair falls just above his eyes. He's handsome, but everything about him feels almost…sad?

"Why do they call you Ace?" I keep my tone light, like it's just another harmless question. His jaw tenses. He'll ignore me, just like the rest of my questions.

"You don't let up, do you?" He finally meets my eyes with a rough laugh.

"Everything's a question with you."

I swallow and shrug. "Knowledge is power." My voice is quiet, a tiny smile itching at the corner of my mouth. My mother's voice rings in my ears, the way she'd sigh and tell me my questions would get me in trouble. The memory hurts, but I hold onto it, just for a second.

"Curiosity in this place is what gets you killed." His words are serious, but I catch something softer in his eyes.

I frown. "You didn't answer my question."

He rolls his eyes. "Ace is my name."

I scrunch up my face, not letting it go. "What kind of name is that?"

He looks away for a second, his mouth tightening. For a moment, I see something flicker across his face—a shadow, maybe, or just regret. But then it's gone, hidden behind a blank look. He clears his throat. "You need to go back to your cell now."

He pulls me a little closer to the guard, who's already unlocked the basement door. The guard grabs my arm, his fingers rough and impatient. Ace lets go, stepping back. I look over my shoulder. He's still watching me, his eyes fixed on my face. There's something gentle there, something I didn't expect. He nods once, like a goodbye.

"Goodbye, Amora." His voice is quiet, and a soft smile flickers briefly, which makes my chest loosen a little. The guard pushes me into the darkness as we move to the first step. I look over my shoulder and spot Ace still standing there, waiting as the guard closes the door.

The guard pushes me down the stairs, my feet scraping against the cold stone until we reach the bottom. I see the four cells, all as empty as I feel.

I hear the groan of cell gates as I wake, alongside the rattle as they're slammed closed, the light blaring overhead. My head pounds with flashes of pain, my eyes sore from sobbing. Hailee's empty cot sits beside me. She should be here—no, she should be home with her family. I push myself up onto my mattress, my eyes finally focusing, and I spot her golden hair before anything else.

I scramble to my feet and grip the bars, lacing my arm through the gap as I reach out for her, but it's no use. She's too far.

"Annabelle!" I cry out, hoping she'll turn, but she doesn't. She's lying on the cot, her breathing deep and shallow as her hair covers her face. I look up at the guard, face confused. "What's wrong with her?" I manage to spit out, my hands sweating against the bars as I grip harder, eyes moving between him and her.

It's the same guard from before, the one who brought me back. It's his first time in here; he looks down at Annabelle, and sadness spreads across his face. He's an older guy, with silver hair and beard, with little specks of brown left over from his youth.

"They said she was screaming too much." He takes a breath as he turns away, a small glint in his eye. "They sedated her, she'll come round soon."

I nod, trying to process what he's said, when my eyes spot the bruises on her legs, the red blazing marks on her wrists from being restrained. I feel the same sickness in my stomach, but this time it doesn't stay—it floods through me, burning my throat as I lunge for the bucket, vomiting the emptiness that had taken hold of my insides. When I can finally breathe again, I wipe at the excess on my mouth, spitting into the bucket as the beads of sweat drip into my eyes.

The guard stares at me, his eyes soft as he moves to the cell gates. He opens them and steps inside. I flinch, scurrying to the corner of the room as I grip my arms around my legs.

"Less of that, love. I'm not here to harm you." His voice is sincere. He picks up the bucket and moves back out to the centre of the room, ensuring to lock the cell gate behind him. I lean against the wall, turning slowly to face Hailee's bed. I can't stop looking, everything inside me aching. I know if I don't stop, if I don't push it into a little box and place it far into the back of my mind, it'll consume me, so I do it. I tear my gaze away while a little piece of my heart chips away. It isn't strength or bravery, it's survival—and it isn't for me. It's all for my lost sister.

The guard returns a second later, carrying a now empty bucket, filling the room with the scent of bleach, along with a bottle of water. He opens the gates a little slower this time, his grip tight to stop the rattle which echoes around the silence. He steps closer, arm held out—and a subtle shake as he gestures for me to take the bottle. I slowly move to grab it, the cold nice against my palm as I pull it to my chest.

"Thank you," I say quietly. He nods and gives a small smile.

"I know it must seem like we're all monsters here, love, but most of us are just trying to survive." His voice is quiet as he locks up once again. I watch as he moves to the stool in the corner of the room. It's a little hard to believe his words when he's sitting with a gun tucked into his waistband behind the cell gate with the freedom to leave.

"What's your name?" I ask, moving closer, crossing my legs as I open the water bottle and take a sip.

"John. What about yours?"

"Amora. Listen, John, can I ask you something?"

He doesn't reply, he just nods as he waits for me to continue. I hesitate for a moment; he's been one of the few to show an ounce of compassion. I'm not sure if I should push it. I bite my cheek as I deliberate, but I have to try.