A boy sat huddled in a basement, no older than 7, his small frame pressed against the cold concrete wall. The dim yellow light from a single bulb swinging overhead cast dancing shadows across his terrified face. Cuts and bruises painted his pale skin in sickening hues of purple and yellow—a canvas of cruelty that no child should bear. His thin arms wrapped around his knees as he cowered, pulling his trembling body as far away as physically possible from what lay before him. His throat was raw from screaming, each cry tearing at his vocal cords like sandpaper.
"Stop crying, Aziel," the stern man holding the leash commanded. His voice carried no emotion, no sympathy—just cold expectation that hung in the musty air between them.
