Others, there were others. Ishaan looked to the voice, to the person it belonged to. As his eyes began to adjust to the near darkness, he realized that it belonged to a woman, one with long hair and an affinity for hanging upside down. Perhaps the blood flow was responsible for her uncharacteristic happiness. As she continued to speak - about all of them - he glanced to the side. Several other cages lined the walls, large enough to fit one person semi-comfortably. The rest of them remained silent though, allowing the woman to speak freely.
Ishaan slowly pushed himself away from the damp ground so that he was sitting, shoulder resting against one of the iron bars. He'd answered that question once before, believing that he'd been saved. Now, Twig's voice rang through his head, mocking him. Welcome aboard the Sandstorm, Ishaan from Costa Duba.
If they found out what they'd truly been doing in the desert, they were as good as dead. Or worse.
"Is there a woman here? Klaire?" He asked, though not specifically to the woman who had spoken to him. "What is this? Who are these people?"
---
Shortly after Twig had gone, long enough for a debrief to occur, there was a soft knock on the door. Without waiting for a response, it creaked open slowly. A tiny figure darted through, quick as the night, and leapt onto the foot of the bed. She sat immediately and stilled, apart from the black tail that flicked over the edge of the bed. Sat and stared at the occupant of the bed.
Another followed once the door had opened wide enough. He too was silent, his footsteps nothing more than a faint hush. Clad in dark, tailored clothing, he moved gracefully until he stood at the end of the bed. His skin was dark like ebony, a stark comparison to the long, white hair that ran down his back, the top section styled in a neat braid. Fine lines had begun to grow around his eyes and lips, the only visible imperfections on his exposed being. Striking yellow eyes flicked over her body, lingering for a second over her face.
And then he moved, a gloved hand reaching for the back of a nearby chair, silently lifting and placing it between Klaire and the door. He sat down; legs comfortably spread, his right elbow resting against the armrest, body leaning into the side. Those yellow eyes flicked back and remained on the woman, even as the cat moved and found her way onto the left side of his lap. Her own amber eyes remained keen on him. Silently, he slid his left glove off, placing it neatly against the armrest and began to stroke the tiny beast, who purred in response.