Chapter 18: Together in Darkness

Two weeks in the cell, and they’d found a rhythm.

There wasn’t much space—barely enough for both of them to lie down if they pressed close together. A stone bench, a bucket, nothing else. Guards brought food and water once or twice a day, though the schedule was erratic.

But they had each other.

During the day, they talked. Wei taught Nara more advanced Chinese—poetry, philosophy, the kind of refined language she’d need if they survived. Nara taught Wei about the steppes, about Mongol culture, about the life they might have if they made it through.

“Tell me about your home again,” Wei would say, curled against Nara’s side for warmth. “About the horses and the sky.”

And Nara would describe it, painting pictures with words, giving Wei something to dream about besides cold stone walls.

At night, they held each other. Sometimes they made love—carefully, quietly, aware that guards could pass by at any moment. Other times they just lay together, breathing in sync, taking comfort in proximity.

The cell was miserable. But it was theirs.

The explosions grew closer day by day. The ground shook almost constantly now. Dust rained from the ceiling. Other prisoners screamed or prayed or wept.