It really is. There’s dust everywhere and bugs as well. It’s taking all my years of training and all my willpower to keep my cool and not freak out.
“That’s not comforting in the slightest,” he groans.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Ethan. My name’s Audra, by the way.”
“Audra,” he repeats. “Pretty name.”
I know the blow to my head knocked a few screws loose in my head. Because otherwise, how can I explain the immediate hotness burning my cheeks at his words. I’m suddenly grateful for the dimly lit basement. Otherwise, he would have seen me blush.
Get a grip, Audra.
“Thanks. So does that mean you’re not mad anymore?” I question.
“I’m still mad. But there’s no use crying over spilled milk. We’re already captured. Now we have to figure out how to get out of here,” he explained.
“You still didn’t answer my question, though,” I point out.
“What question?”
“Why did you follow me out there? You could have been safe if you had just stayed hidden.”
He ponders that for a second.
“I guess it’s the same reason you wanted to save that girl. I couldn’t just watch you put yourself in danger like that.”
That’s oddly sweet.
“Thank you. And I’m really sorry I got us into this. I promise we won’t die.”
I think I see a smile on his face, but I can’t be too sure.
“And how do you know that?” he asks.
“It’s more like I can’t die. I have a family back home waiting for me, and I’m sure you do too.”
He gives me one nod.
“Then I promise we won’t die too. No matter what, we’re both getting out of here alive.”
A few hours later, the door slowly opened. A small, gangly man, or should I say, boy, steps in carrying a tray of what we assume is food. He only looks about sixteen and is nervous as hell. He places the plates in front of us. On them are brown globs that look like…I can’t even say it.
I look up at the boy.
“Is this supposed to be food?” I ask in Spanish.
I don’t miss the impressed look Ethan throws my way.
“Es buena comida,” he replies, meaning it is good food.
I throw him a doubtful look while Ethan gives me a confused one. I guess he doesn’t speak Spanish, which is dumb. Why come to a foreign country on a mission if you don’t know the language.
The boy has a mischievous glint in his brown eyes. He’s definitely enjoying this. At least they didn’t send one of the evil-looking kidnappers.
“Donde Estamos?” I ask, meaning, where are we?
He shrugs.
“No se. Soy cautivo como tu,” he says sadly. It loosely translates to ‘Don’t know. I’m a captive like you.’
