Next to the bed on the nightstand was a hotel glass filled with a milky-looking liquid. And propped against it was a typed note that said: Drink me. Rainy considered the liquid, holding it up to the light, and then smelling it. So was he the Cheshire Cat or the White Rabbit, and what was supposed to happen when she fell into his world? She knew he wouldn’t kill her...not right away. He would want to stretch out the experience, really play with his toys. She didn’t care, though, not enough to stop herself from tipping the glass to her lips and taking a few gulping sips; the taste was bitter. Psychological warfare had been Taured’s specialty and Rainy had learned the rhythm and beat of it. If she didn’t come, he was going to kill Braithe. She sat on the bed after she’d swallowed the last bit and waited to feel something.

She was awake. The room opened itself to her sideways, her face pressed against cold concrete. She licked her lips, which felt stiff and dry, and tried to sit up, but her limbs felt weighted. No, they weren’t weighted but restricted: she was tied up. She’d been in the hotel room, and now she was in what looked like a very large, industrial-size kitchen. She could see the large metal doors of a fridge to her right, draped in plastic that been half pulled off. On her left were what looked like more fridges, only these had narrow doors. She wriggled her wrists and realized they were bound by handcuffs.

“Paul...” It was more of a wheeze than a shout. Rainy barely got his name out before she started coughing. As she spoke, she saw brown work boots walking toward her from the far end of the room. They stopped abruptly, close to her face. If she stuck out her tongue, she’d taste the toe of his right shoe. Tilting her head up toward the light and the owner of the boots, she got her first look at his face, her eyes waterlogged from coughing.