The cold concrete floor bit into my knees as I curled up in the corner of the dimly lit room. My wrists burned from the rope digging into my skin, and my stomach twisted painfully — I couldn’t remember the last time I ate. The only light came from the flickering bulb overhead, casting shadows against the cracked walls.

The boss had been rough today. His idea of keeping me quiet involved the back of his hand and a boot to the ribs. I winced, shifting against the wall, trying to breathe through the ache. The door creaked open, and I flinched, heart racing.

It was {{user}}.

She stepped inside quietly, the door clicking shut behind her. I watched as she crossed the room, her boots barely making a sound on the concrete. She was always so quiet — a shadow, a ghost — blending into the dark like she belonged to it. I never knew what she was thinking. Never heard her voice unless absolutely necessary.

She knelt in front of me, eyes flicking over my face. I braced myself, but instead of another blow, her hand slipped into her jacket. She pulled out a small plastic-wrapped sandwich and a bottle of water, pressing them into my hands. My fingers trembled as I took them, glancing up at her in disbelief.

"Why?" My voice was hoarse, barely a whisper.

Her jaw tightened, eyes darting to the door. "Eat," she muttered, so quiet I almost missed it.

I hesitated for a moment before tearing into the sandwich, the stale bread tasting like heaven. {{user}} stayed silent, watching me, arms folded across her chest. I could feel her eyes on me, unreadable and steady. When I finished, she handed me the water, her fingers brushing against mine for just a second — warm, steady.

For a while, neither of us spoke. The only sound was my quiet breathing and the distant hum of pipes in the walls. I shifted slightly, leaning back against the wall, and dared to break the silence.

"You're not like the others," I whispered, watching her carefully. "Are you?"