The cell smelled of rust and rot, and something sweeter underneath. Delphi had learned not to think about the sweet smell.

The walls wept moisture. Her skin had forgotten what temperature meant. Her body had forgotten what safe meant.

Another girl didn't come back after Rat Face took her. The one with the bitten-down nails who used to whisper prayers in a language Delphi didn't know. She'd been praying when they dragged her out.

The empty space where she'd slept stayed empty. No one moved into it. No one spoke about it.

Days passed. Maybe four. Maybe more.

Delphi had stopped counting. Counting meant the days mattered. Counting meant there was a future.

She pressed her back against the wet stone and watched the dark.

The dark watched back.