My only concept of time came each day, when Jones opened the iron grate above. Over my heart’s refrain—hold on, hold on, hold on—I’d hear her ask the question. The same one, every day: do you need more? When I didn’t answer, she’d give me a swallow of water, then slide the grate shut for another day.

Day three—the dark is complete. It sucks my bones to the marrow. Do you need more?

Day six—my grip on reality frays. My memories wobble. What is real? Did I only imagine my birth—my mother, my comrades? Were we all, like wings, merely figments?

Day eight—I am disappearing. Hold on Hold on Hold on. My nails grip the flesh of my arms, carving crescent moons in my biceps. My mind unravels. Do you need more?

Day ten—I am gone, lost in a dream, when the grate opens above me. Clean air rushes in and I drink it, as quick as I can. Suddenly, a hand grasps my arm and lifts me out of the Pit.

Blood needled through my limbs as she—Jones—dragged me from the dungeon. Bright light scorched my eyes. And, oh, the thirst! The thirst made me delirious. She pulled me up the stairs and down corridors until we came to the window from whence I’d attempted escape.

“Open your eyes,” she commanded.

I did, seeing nothing but frightful shadows. Her gigantic form, a massive fist raised like a thundercloud.

“You will learn your lesson, girl. You will learn your lesson now.”

The thundercloud zoomed and clapped. My nose broke. Fluid spewed. My neck snapped left and right. And still, the fist came. Relentless, whaling. Whumph, a tooth cracked. Whumph. My thirst paled as my head swam with pain. I dove and dodged—no good. The blows were methodical, falling again and again. I had to think. There had to be a way out. I twisted wildly. She caught me in the temple—once, my ears rang—twice, I went limp.

A sound woke me sometime later. A garbled whisper. The same voice from the tomb! Only now, the harping made sense. Broken exchanges I’d heard through the power-fan grates and whispers of pure fear. She’ll beat you like nothing for this. More, ’cause you’ve made her wait. Listen to me! Fall down with the first blow, okay? And don’t scream. It’ll make her mad. Don’t plead; roll over and grovel. Play dumb. She’ll like that. She likes to see the marks. So turn your face up, okay? Can you hear me?

I opened one eye just as the shadow fist fell again. I angled my chin up, crack, it drove into my jaw. Again, again. Her hands, slick with blood and sweat, lost their grip. I slid to the floor. Fear whispered in my ear.