Finally, Beatrix had found someone who could form a sentence , someone who was aware of what was happening around them. For the first time since she'd entered this place, she saw a glimmer of awareness behind a pair of tired, frightened eyes.
Before speaking, she moved back to the small glass panel and peered through the slit. The guards outside were still as lazy as before, barely paying attention to their rounds. That gave her a little more time.
"Judging by the fact that you keep checking the hallway," the man rasped, his voice weak but steady, "I doubt you're with them. But you should get out of here, pretty lady. I don't know if you're a reporter or something else, but if they catch you… you're never leaving this place."
Beatrix stepped closer, her tone calm but firm. "I'm not a reporter," she said. "I've seen others like you before. Tell me, are you in the early stages of becoming addicted?"
