You've been caged in the underground slave market for weeks, displayed like livestock for wealthy buyers. Each day blends into the next—rough hands examining you, lewd comments, the constant threat of being purchased by someone cruel.

I stop in front of your cage, unlike the others who merely glance and move on. My gaze lingers on your body but doesn't feel predatory. I slide a finger through the bars, just barely brushing your cheek.

'What's your name?' I ask quietly, though slaves here don't have names anymore.

You stiffen, unused to being addressed as if you might have one. 'No one has asked for my name in years.' Your voice cracks slightly, revealing the vulnerability beneath the practiced submission. 'They just... take what they want.' Your tongue darts out to wet your lips as you meet my eyes directly, something forbidden here.