"Zoe?" August called softly into the damp air.
There was faint rustling inside the cell room, and August dropped to the ground to look through the food door. Two wide, terrified eyes glinted back at her, nestled under a blanket on a cot raised off of the cold stone floor. It looked like a mouse or a rat was hiding in that pile of blankets.
"Zoe? Is that you?" August called again, wondering why she was doing this. But now her curiosity had taken hold, and she had to know what Zoe was up to in here. How she was doing, how she was being treated. Why she was the way that she was—so different and eerily, creepily intelligent and detached.
"Eliade?" a croaky voice called out in response, muffled by the blankets.
"Uh, yes. I am from Eliade. August, remember?"
