Chapter 323

The woman's name was Delia Faulkner, and she had long lost count of how many days she'd spent confined in this nightmare. Her expression was dry and unmoved, a lifeless calm drenching her. "If those men's lusts aren't satisfied..." she murmured,sounding empty, "we'll be tossed aside like broken tools."

With brutal bluntness, she exposed the reality of this underground cell block-wringing every scrap of worth from a woman's form.

A cold shudder ran through Hannah. Rage swelled under her ribs, sharpening her focus and hardening her eyes.

"Don't lose faith," Hannah declared, steady and composed. "We're leaving. Every last one of us."

"Leaving? By what miracle?" On the opposite side of the pen, someone who'd remained mute until now finally lifted her gazo. The scars on her face told too many stories-some barely visible, others fresh and furious. This was Elsa Douglas.

Her mouth curled into something between disgust and pity. "Look around you. We're chained like strays, no better than livestock. You've got no room to even stretch. Hah, dreaming about escape...You're delusional."

Her sentence darkened the air, smothering hope with its weight, followed by broken sobs muffled in sleeves. A few of the women shrank even further into themselves.

Hannah looked at Delia. "Who's in charge of this hell?"

Delia stalled, scanning the cell before she leaned in."Carville. He's at the top. No heart, all malice.Everyone reports to him."

Carville. Hannah's lips pulled into a humorless smirk.That man, cunning as a fox, had played her and Vincent from the very beginning. Delia hesitated, choosing her next words with care.Then,she met Hannah's steady gaze, voice dropping to a secretive murmur. "And there's Doyle. He's head of personnel. On paper, he takes orders from Carville, but they don't get along. Doyle talks when he drinks-says Carville's a greedy control freak,always hogging the rewards from the mining spoils.Doyle thinks he's owed more."

Something bitter flickered in Delia's stare.

"'They don't get along,'" Hannah echoed under her breath. "That's promising." A daring gleam kindled in her eyes.

"What's promising about that?" Elsa scoffed, her tone sharp and frigid.

Hannah turned toward the women, her words low but electric with urgency. "If we can twist that rivalry into a war-force them to claw at each other's throats-that's our window!"

"Big talk," Delia rasped, voice weighed down by skepticism. "You think it's that easy?" She gestured toward the looming darkness beyond the bars."Those two are seasoned predators. You believe you can outmaneuver them?"

"| know I can't do it without help," Hannah said,scanning every face in the cell. "But together?Together, we've got a shot."

Elsa snorted."Keep dreaming. We're not winning this game."

"I understand your concern," Hannah replied, her voice gentle but firm. "I won't even ask all of you to join. If your heart says this is suicide..." Her tone grew tender. "Then stay quiet. Bury this moment deep."She placed a hand on her chest.

Then, her stare burned into Delia, then Elsa-whose hardened glare flickered, touched by something faint and new-and the few others whose eyes caught the spark like fragile tinder.

"But if there's any fire left in you," Hannah urged,"even a flicker that wants freedom, then act. Try anything. No matter how small. For your own sake." The silence that followed was thick and heavy,broken only by breaths too shallow to steady the nerves.

None of them replied. Their eyes were hollowed,frozen in despair.

Then came the tap-tap of leather on concrete, slicing through the hush, and Hannah clamped down on her next sentence. Already time for the "visits?"

The reinforced entrance groaned open, and a man of average height staggered through. The stench of liquor clung to him, and his smirk reeked of filth.

This was Marion Larson. Doyle's lackey, in charge of this underground cell. Yes, he would make out with any captive he liked. And he always ignored work shifts and dropped by whenever his desires took him.

"Well, well. Look at this pretty little thing," Marion slurred, licking cracked lips. His lustful eyes fixed on Hannah as he ambled over, fingers already unlocking the latch. "You. Out. You're mine tonight." He lunged to seize her wrist.

"Marion!" Delia's trembling voice rose from a far corner. Thin, almost broken, but enough to stall him."Her husband... He's still alive! The new one, the one who can fight! The visiting hour is soon-this... This isn't a good idea."

"Not a good idea?" Marion scoffed, shooting her a look full of mockery. "Says who? Once you're caged,you're open season. So what if I take his bride for a bit of fun? What's he gonna do-cry?"