The heavy door creaked open with a slow and agonizing groan, shedding a thin band of dim hallway light across the dusty floorboards before Irene stepped into the cold basement. She carried a small tray balancing a plain bowl of soup, a slice of bread, and a plastic bottle of water, her eyes fixed on the floor as she carefully navigated the uneven stone steps.
The air in the room instantly grew thick with tension, heavy and suffocating, as Azaria stood rigid near the edge of the mattress, her heart thumping against her ribs. In the long minutes since the key had turned in the lock, Azaria had been desperately trying to process her capture, searching her mind for any reason why she had been targeted and who could possibly be behind it, and now she was finally looking at her captor in the face.
