On the eighth floor of the Pillar of Treachery's prison, a huge, dark cell sprawled out, built for a hundred but now holding forty skinny prisoners. Their bony bodies, weak from hunger, glowed faintly in the light of two flickering torches.
The air was thick with sorrow, interrupted by snarling growls as inmates fighting for morsels of food or the creepy noises of those so starving they resorted to eat other inmates.
A clang of metal echoed above as the ration dropper kicked in. A heavy crate crashed onto the stone floor, lighting a spark in the darkness.
Every prisoner's eyes locked on it, and they rushed forward, a wild crowd pushing and scratching for the small scraps inside.
On the fourth floor, Vivien sat against the cold stone wall, her third day locked up. The slave collar rubbed her neck raw, the skin red and sore, but the sharp hunger in her belly hurt worse.
