"Are you sure this is going to work?" I whisper, closing my eyes as the scissors gleam. "Why can't we just use the scissors as a weapon?" Rose bobs down next to me and grins, and I stare at her hair. I'd cut it before, on some crazy idea she had. Now it came down to just below her ears, ragged and uneven.

"Could've suggested that before we started this. It'll be fine. Besides, I didn't spend an hour plaiting your hair for nothing." She gets up and hacks at the dozens of tiny braids she'd made. I wince, putting my hands over my eyes, until my head falls forward with nothing to hold it upright.

Rose steps into view, holding a bunch of long, thin black ropes of hair. Gingerly I run my fingers through what she left behind and discover it ends halfway to my shoulders. I scramble up off the floor and draw Rose's braid from my pocket.

"Need a hairtie, got an extra?" She mutters, attaching my hair to the end of hers. I slide one off my wrist and pass it to her, and she sets to work. When I next catch a glimpse, she's made a long red rope that branches off it several very long, very thin, pieces. She picks it up and experimentally cracks it through the air.

I wince as its ends whack my arm and I draw back into the corner like a kicked dog. Rose drops the homemade whip and runs to my side, wrapping her arms around me. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"It's alright. It's not bad." I murmur. I flex my hands, looking at the broken and blackened fingers wrapped in strips of white cloth. Rose's jacket, cut into bandages. I stay still as my friend touches my face; her fingers trailing over my black eye, the split lip, the word liar cut into my forehead.

Every day, twelve hours a day, since we arrived here they've tortured me. I put up with it, barely, but three full days of pain and sleepless nights can really hurt a girl. Rose is doing her best to patch me up in the night, but her options and supplies are limited.

"They can't keep doing this. They won't. We'll fight back this time." She cracks the whip again experimentally. I wince and slink off to lie down on the bed, trying to get a little bit of rest. Rose lies down next to me with a sigh. Though she covers it well, I know she's suffering too. The pain of seeing me like this, the exhaustion from fixing me up, the hunger from convincing me I need them meager amounts of bread we're given more than she does.

I stare up at the bottom of the bed above us, trying to make myself comfortable in the dirty, bare mattress. "I wonder how my family is faring without me."

"Tara and Logan will look after them. They don't know you are alive. They'll send dogs to track you. Me too. My mum and dad.... They don't know anything about this, they know less than yours do."

"I suppose so." I sigh and close my eyes a little, newly cut hair fanned out around my face.

I must've fallen asleep at some point, because when I next open my eyes it's to see a new guy backed into the corner, Rose in front of him and brandishing the whip threateningly. I scramble up and hurry to her side.

"You slept for an hour. This guy Soren was trying to sneak in and take you out for a 'session'." She cackles a little, cracking the whip above Soren's head. "I soon showed him what's what."

Soren growls a little as I can see him reaching for his pocket, where something shiny and metal pokes out. I grab Rose's arm and she turns to me sharply. I flicker my eyes to his weapon. "I might just get it over with, okay?"

She catches onto my meaning and gently touches my shoulder reassuringly. I stand still as Soren grabs the whip in one hand and my arm in the other, before stalking off with me in tow. I glance back to see Rose standing in the middle of the room looking lost before the doors slam shut.

Soren doesn't say much as we walk, so I quietly assess him. He seems strong, though he's fairly skinny. A slight slant to his eyes suggests at Asian heritage. I tilt my head slightly, gazing at his dark hair. He's about my age, maybe a year older.

"Come on girl, hurry up." He snaps. I can hear a slight tremor in his voice and look up in surprise and he meets my eyes. His are the colour of obsidian. Something, a look of pain or desperation, passes across my face and he jerks me along roughly.

"Ow, take it easy." I snarl. He snarls right back at me, digging his fingers into my arm as he drags me into a different, larger room. I wait patiently as we enter, and collapse in Olivia's arms when she reaches out to take me. She buckles under my weight but continues dragging me slowly to a large wooden chair in the middle of the room.

The people in the room are relaxed, calm. I hum quietly under my breath as I'm tied to the chair with a length of chain. I know what to expect. I won't fight a losing battle. Olivia finishes the knots with a flourish and reaches out. A pale woman, Tia, passes her a knife.

I watch her calmly, quietly taking in the people in the room. Josh, Holland, Olivia, Tia, Soren, two I don't know. A sharp pain in my shoulder makes me turn to Olivia. "What do you want?"

"Where is Ronan?" She drawls. "We've sent Blake to check out his house. He is not there. Where is he?"

"How'm I supposed to know? I'm a little tied up at the moment."

"Blake has a firearm. Tell me and I'll make her leave Tang alone." She brandishes the knife. I spit upwards at her face, telling her to do something anatomically impossible. She snarls in hatred and raises the knife. Soren turns away.

In a flash of silver, my scream is cut off sharply.