40: Hope

Logan

My back rests against the cellar wall, cold water dripping down it, but I don’t care.

I hear the soft whimper of Marcel as he slowly wakens from his forced nap. He groans in obvious pain, the darkness doing little to hide the wounds covering his body.

“Marcel?” I ask him, seeing his confused face look up from the other side of the cell.

“Where am I?” he asks. I see the whites of his eyes dart from side to side, ...