EMERY GRACE CONRAD'S POV
When I regain my consciousness, it was the cell that greeted me. Apart from those rusty bars, I have the young boy as a company. Both of our feet in shackles, while our hand are hard-bound towards the attachment on the walls. There are grievance. The smell of death and sufferings is what I presumed radiating from this entire place. It reeks of hell. A life deprive of hope, and anything else that could have matter.
I turn to wake the young boy.
"Pst, wake up." Bring my foot in a hard-swing, but my attempt is fruitless. It was futile, feeling how tight it has had been. Oh god, we are already inside a cell, what could have made them bind us even, when we won't be able to escape the place at all? Well, maybe, if we're given the chance.
I puffed my cheeks. Trying mu
