She thought about the beatings they’d given him, tears swelling into her eyes. She didn’t want to think about the beatings, hated to think about the beatings, but couldn’t keep her mind from turning back to them. He was a strong man. Physically and mentally. Stronger than she ever could be. But it was hard to see how anyone would be able to withstand much more of their vicious, unforgiving abuse.

She sat there gathered into a ball. The blackness was absolute. She could have held her hand directly in front of her face and not seen the vaguest hint of its outline. Absolute. Only the noises beyond the cage had variation.

She listened to them, trying to take note of the changes.

Time passed.

The drumming rhythms quickened and slowed. There were periods when everything switched off. Beneath the sound of the machines, and in the occasional lulls, she could hear the quiet susurrus of air blowing through unseen ventilation grilles.

She prayed to God the scream had been something she’d imagined, dreamed, whatever.

She listened intently to the machine noises. She wasn’t sure what compelled her. Perhaps it was ingrained habit, a mind used to filing and sorting information. Perhaps it was only to give her moments shape, definition, a sense of onward movement. Or perhaps the reason was simpler, and she just needed to try and focus on something besides what those men had done to him. What they might be doing to him right now.

She hoped she hadn’t actually heard that scream.

The beatings had been awful.

He couldn’t take much more.

Alone, trapped, the cuffs digging into her wrists, she slumped against the walls of the cage. The air hissing in from the shaft was not exactly warm, but it had raised the temperature enough to keep her from freezing, keep her alive down here, keep both of them alive before they took him away.

She wished she knew where he was, how he was.

The beatings.

Her thoughts insisted on doubling back to the beatings.