Olwen's POV:
The buff man, who originally caught me, slaps me across the face with the back of his hand. I grit my teeth, but remain silent before them, a trickle of blood down my chin from the earlier punches they gave me.
Wait.
"How many?" The shadowed man asks, blocked from the thick blindfold around my eyes. The room was underground, stone possibly. The metal chair I was tied in was obviously meant for other prisoners, especially not White Warriors. The rope was weak around my wrists and legs, ready to break under the proper force.
They think we were weaker.
I smirk in my mind, but keep my face emotionless and stoic. An unspoken command flicks through the air and another blow hits my face, sparking pain across my temple, and sending the chair to the ground. I lift my head forward
