Mariana’s Pov

Chains rattle. My head lolls back and lolls forward again, my toenails scraping across the dirty floor, bloody.

The sun has risen and set a few times since I’ve been locked up in here. And if my calculations are correct, I’d say a week has passed.

A week and Alejandro hasn’t come to save me.

He really must be dead.

Tears pour out of my eyes.

“It’s all my fault,” I murmur, “it’s all my fault. . .”

I make a move to shift, to get into a more comfortable ...