The hours stretched without mercy. No sun, no moon, no measure of time beyond the steady drip of water in the far corner of the cell.
The children shifted restlessly, hunger gnawing at their bellies. Mira whimpered now and then, each sound swallowed by the heavy air. Renn tried to comfort her, but his own lips were pale, trembling.
Kairo sat unmoving, eyes half-lidded, his body still as stone. Only his fingers twitched against the iron links, testing their strength in silence.
Selaih broke first. Her voice was hoarse, nearly a whisper.
"Do you think anyone even knows where we are?"
No one answered.
Callen finally muttered, "No one's coming." His voice cracked. "We're just—lost."
The words stabbed deeper than the chains themselves. The hopelessness spread, crawling into the children's bones.
Kairo's jaw tightened. He didn't look at them, but his voice came sharp, cold enough to sting.
"Stop."
They flinched. Even Igron stirred in his sleep, shifting uneasily.
"You talk like that," Kairo continued, his crimson eyes opening slowly, "and you'll already be dead. Whether someone comes or not, whether we stay or break free—doesn't matter. Only one thing matters."
Renn swallowed hard. "What… what's that?"
Kairo leaned forward, chains rattling as his lips curved in something that wasn't quite a smile.
"Enduring long enough to see the ones who put us here bleed."
The silence that followed was heavier than before. But this time, there was no sobbing, no hopeless whisper. Only the faint sound of breathing—and the echo of Kairo's promise, clinging to the air like the taste of iron.