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I could hear the disappointment and frustration in his voice.

“No. I can’t tell you where they live.”

“But you would lie there and heap guilt on me for not wanting you to leave. What if I make all the same promises you did? I’ll never tell anybody where your people live. I’ll never breathe a word.”

“You don’t have to be nasty. Not now. Not after what you did to me.” I turned my head away with a groan. “You should’ve let me die.”

“I’m beginning to wonder if you might be right, after all.” He shot up suddenly and walked out of what I realized was a cell, complete with iron bars.

I would’ve called out to him, begged him not to leave me alone there, scared and in pain and worried that things would get a lot worse, if I could’ve called out to him without the pain only getting worse.

I stared up at the ceiling, which looked like it had been carved from solid rock. I needed to distract myself. If I thought about the poison, I’d start to panic again. Panic meant pain.

Who created the cell?

The tunnel I heard the dragon’s footsteps fading down was a long one.

How much more were there?

Did he say that was where they lived?

I couldn’t remember—everything was a blur.

I was going to die there.

That much was clear.