The air behind the stage was thick with tension. Lanterns cast dim, flickering light across the worn floorboards and the line of wheeled iron cages.
Noir and Etienne sat huddled with the other captives—children, wounded women, and pretty young men, all stripped of dignity, and consumed by fear.
Two guards remained behind to watch them, stationed lazily near the exit as if they'd grown bored from the repeated cycle of pushing cages and slamming doors. The other two were the ones delivering the wheeled iron cage to the stage.
The sound of the wheels was traumatizing to the victims. Once they heard it approaching, it meant one of them was sold, and the cage was coming back to get the next victim.
Etienne couldn't bear watching the victims cry, frightened and hopeless, so he buried his face on his knees, biting his lips until they bled. He lost count of the times he wished he were as strong, powerful, and courageous as his other team members, just like his team captain.
