Mia was worried for the man even as he offered help to escape. It was obvious he was in bad shape, though she couldn’t see the full extent of the wound on his side.

“I can.” He nodded, earnest but quiet. “I can help.”

“Okay,” Mia soothed, even as she eyed the cut that was still weeping into his shirt, the bright red of the blood mingling with the dried copper from days past. “Yes, you can help. What’s your name?”

“Robert,” the man said, confirming what she’d already guessed. They were missing a person. Here was their person. “Robert Twist. I’m a journalist.”

There was a distinct lack of panic in his voice, and Mia tried to remember what to do with a person who was in shock. She smiled, going for reassuring, despite the way her head still throbbed. “That’s great, Robert. I’ve been looking for you.”

“Yeah?” It was hopeful in the way of a child being told he was a favorite by a teacher. “I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Lost track of days.”

“Do they come down here at all?” Mia asked, moving to sit next to him so that her ankles were in reach of his hands without him having to move. “Can you start in on that knot there, Robert?”

His mouth pulled back in a tight grimace as he brought his hands up, but he didn’t complain as he started tugging at the ends.

“No, put pressure on the point where the rope crosses,” Mia instructed. Then asked again: “Robert, do you know who’s keeping us here? Do you ever see them?”

Robert paused, looking up. There was the fear that had been missing earlier. Maybe it came in waves, the detachment followed by a fresh flood of terror.

“I don’t know.” The admission was hesitant, almost shameful, and he’d ducked his head once more, hiding.

“They don’t come down?” The webbing of old and new blood on his shirt said differently. That was a wound that had been aggravated over time.

His fingers trembled. “I have a pick.”

“What?”

“For the lock,” Robert said, his lips tugging into a proud smile, that child once again. “Well, it’s just a piece of metal. But the lock is old fashioned. I think it could work.”

He glanced at her, his eyes bright. “You know how to pick a lock, don’t you? I don’t. I couldn’t . . . It wouldn’t work. I tried, but it wouldn’t work.”

Mia shifted her ankles to bring his attention back to them. “I’ll try,” she said, though she didn’t have much hope. What they needed was for her to have her hands and feet free if their kidnapper came down the stairs.

“You haven’t seen their face?” Mia tried a different way into the question.