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... >

Not water — thicker. Slower. Wet, rhythmic splatters echoing off stone.

My eyes fluttered open, then immediately squeezed shut again. The dim torchlight stung, and the air... gods, the air was wrong. Not just cold — rotten. Like mold and meat and the acidic burn of old blood.

I was lying on my side. Bars curved around me. Iron. Thick. Close together. A cage.

A dog cage.

No... bigger than that.

For something bigger.

Like me.

Voices mutt ...

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