From the group of women, one stepped forward.
She moved slowly, almost as if the weight of everything she'd endured was pressing down on her with every step.
Her bare feet made soft, deliberate sounds against the cold, hard ground.
Her expression was empty at first—blank like a mask, but her eyes… her eyes were fixated on the man strung above them.
Earl Prisk, bound tightly, suspended, still alive, still squirming, still barking orders.
"You, woman! Come get me down from here!" he shouted from above, his voice laced with both rage and panic.
The woman remained still.
Her gaze didn't falter, but she didn't move.
Her body was frozen, not from fear, but from calculation, like she was weighing a decision she'd waited too long to make.
"What are you doing?! Get me down, right this instance!" he screamed again, louder and more desperate this time.
Still nothing. Not a twitch.
