It was a sleeveless tunic you pulled on over your head.
As Bao Bei clumsily tried to dry himself off, Dova grew irritated and shouted at a subordinate to get the kid dressed already.
Once Bao Bei was finally clothed, Doga again grabbed him by the scruff and let him dangle. Like that, he opened a door toward the back of the warehouse and went inside.
The room was dimly lit, with two small spaces sectioned off by rough metal bars.
They weren't rooms—they were cages. The stale air reeked of waste, sweat, and rotting food, the stench trapped in the poorly ventilated space.
One cage had a single child. The other held three. Bao Bei was thrown into the one with three. The lock clanked shut behind him, and without so much as a glance back, Doga and the others left.
...
Huddled near the bars at the entrance, Bao Bei peered into the dim space beyond. The children inside, too, seemed to be silently watching the newcomer, gauging him.
