I sit cross-legged on the cold floor of my cell, my fingers idly tracing the edges of the metal shackles around my wrists. The faint hum of the shackle on my neck is a quiet presence, steady and unyielding. My golden eyes drift to the small barred window, where the last light of the day filters in. The silence wraps around me like a comforting blanket as I fold my blanket neatly, placing it at the end of the cot. Sitting back, I close my eyes, letting the simplicity of this moment wash over me.