Arya's head pounded as she came to her senses. The air smelled like rotten flesh, so much like dead rats, filling her lungs with every labored breath. A dull, throbbing pain pulsed through her skull, and her wrists burned where they had been bound.
The dim flicker of torchlight barely illuminated the small, prison-like space she was trapped in. Cold stone pressed against her back, and the metallic tang of dried blood filled her mouth. She forced herself upright, her muscles protesting the movement.
Bars, thick and rusted, surrounded her. Beyond them, a long corridor stretched into darkness, lined with similar cells. A hidden dungeon beneath the earth.
But she wasn't alone.
A figure sat against the far wall, half-shrouded in shadow. Arya tensed, preparing for another threat, but the woman merely watched her with wary, calculating eyes.
A voice, quiet but firm, cuts through the silence.
