A U T H O R' S P O V

The basement reeks of mildew, copper, and something sharper, and that is the unmistakable stench of fear. Bare concrete walls glisten with condensation, cold and unwelcoming, and a single bulb sways gently overhead, casting fractured shadows that leap and twist across the room like restless spirits. Every time the prisoner twitches, the chain rattles, a harsh metallic reminder of his confinement. His wrists are raw, rope bites etched deep into his skin, and his shirt clings to him, soaked in blood and sweat. His chest heaves violently, as if every breath he draws is laced with knives.