The air was thick and damp, saturated with the smell of moss, old sweat, and something metallic that lingered on the back of Karl's tongue. Blood; that metallic smell was blood.
Karl stepped into the Belly Games quarter, the stone walls of the theater's underbelly closing in around him like a tomb.
Torchlight flickered from rusted sconces, casting jagged shadows along the narrow corridor carved deep into the rock. The suppressor clamp around his neck pressed against his skin, suffocating and reminding him that he wasn't free. If anything, he was in a worse cage.
A guard with a square jaw and a scar cutting across his brow shoved Karl forward without a word. His boots scraped over the uneven stone floor as they moved past a row of doors.
Each one was iron-bound with a number carved crudely into the rock beside it. Every few steps, Karl caught the sound of breathing, a grunt, or the clink of chains behind the doors.
