He was alone again for a long time. Eventually, he fell asleep. He hung from the rack like a side of meat, pinned fast, but sagging where the ropes failed to hold him up. When he woke, the sunlight piercing the openings in the failing walls of the warehouse like spears, he was aching and sore. Where the ropes bound him, the skin was bruised and rubbed raw. He worked his limbs and body to encourage circulation of his blood, flexing his hands and feet, chasing away the numbness and residual tingling.

At some point they would have to cut him down, and when they did he would be ready for them.

But he worried that his strength would be depleted and his reflexes slowed by his bondage. He might have the will to act, but lack the means.

He hated himself for letting this happen.

Then, unexpectedly, he heard voices outside, the words unclear but unmistakably human. He listened as they came closer, trying to make out what they were saying, to decide how many there were. He heard them move down the wall behind him toward the far end of the building, and then cease suddenly. He waited. He tried calling out, but the gag was tied too tightly in place for him to do more than emit a muffled grunt. He strained at the ropes, banging his body against the wooden frame he was lashed against, trying to create any sort of sound that might attract attention. But he couldn’t manage even that.

The voices went away, and he was left anew in silence and gloom. His one chance, gone. He felt a wave of despair wash through him, but quickly forced it away again. He would not give up on himself. One way or another, he would get out of this.

Long minutes passed before he heard a scrabbling at the far door, metal on metal, and the sharp click of a latch releasing. He peered through the gloom, his hopes renewed. A crack appeared in the darkness as the door opened and a slim figure slid through. But then the door closed again, and the silence returned.

He waited for a sound—any sound—to break that silence. But nothing did.

“Thought I saw something back here,” a voice announced suddenly, startling Bombax so that he jerked against the ropes in surprise. “Earlier, when my mates and I were peeking through cracks in the boards, that was you I was seeing.”

A figure stepped into the light. It was a boy, older rather than younger, somewhere close to manhood, his body tall and slim, his face narrow and sharp-featured, his expression cocky.