The man who answered wasn't the one in charge, Iris realised, moments later.

No, the Commander, according to the man standing before them, was currently elsewhere and didn't bother with matters of little importance – such as a random, teenage girl Caspian had captured.

Iris's eyes wandered to the frail and limp body in the middle of the darkened room. She had never seen Grandpa Sage before, but she took an educated guess that the elderly man tied to the chair and bleeding out couldn't have been anyone else. Sage didn't look her way, and his body was slouched to one side as if he could barely hold himself up. His eyes were swollen and shut, and Iris tried to see if his chest was rising, if he was still breathing, but the man who answered the door stepped in her line of vision and was beginning to close the door on the two of them.

"I work in the east wing, as Border Patrol," Caspian replied monotonously. "I need to speak to Commander Eli."

The man had almost shut the door in Caspian's face when he replied, "I told you, he's busy."

"Too busy to see the Terran Princess?"

The man halted, and Iris went rigid as he slowly, ominously, opened the door again. Iris resisted the urge to cower and glance away as he began to step towards her. Instead, she focused on his mud-flecked boots, nervous to meet his gaze. What if he figured out what they were up to?

The man grabbed her arm and inspected the Terran birthmark.

"How?" he demanded quietly, almost as if he was whispering conspiratorially.

"I found her sneaking about in the woods," Caspian stated simply.

The man caught Iris's gaze, and he tilted her head upwards with a meaty finger as he scanned her over. Iris watched his eyes flicker and scan over her stained, ripped attire and unruly hair. Finally, he leaned towards her and dared to take a whiff of dirt, sweat and grime.

"I..." she squeaked, not having to try very hard to play the role of petrified. "W-what is this place?"

The man didn't respond, only scrunched his nose in disgust and leaned away from her stench.

Iris's eyes darted towards Sage and she let out a small whimper. "Who is that? Are you torturing him? Are you going to torture me too?" She retreated backwards, only to have Caspian grip her arms tighter, and she let out a yelp of pain. "P-please don't hurt me!"

"Shut up!" the man barked, and though his tone made Iris jump, she supressed her own smile. It was working. He was buying her act.

"Tie her up, then take the old man to another room. I'd say he's worthless to us now that we have this gem." He gave her a smile that made Iris shudder, and any remaining feelings of pride disappeared, replaced by fear and nervous energy. "I'll go get Eli."

Iris yelped as Caspian shoved her into the room. She writhed in his grasp, making an effort to squirm away as she shouted profanities at him. The man grabbed a rope from a pile in the corner of the room and dragged it towards her. He then grabbed a bloodied knife from the rusty, metal table beside Sage, and Iris tried not to gag or think how many might have bled from that particular torture device. The man sawed through the thick ropes binding Sage, which was apparently the only thing holding him upright as well, because Sage slumped further down the chair once he was released, unmoving even as the man roughly shoved him off the chair. Sage only flopped to the ground like a sack of potatoes, eyes glued shut. Fear pricked at the back of Iris's neck. Was he even breathing? What exactly had they done to him all this time? Iris wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer to the latter.

The man then left the knife on the table and said to Caspian, "If she tries to run... take your pick. Just leave her alive, for Eli." He gestured with a glean in his eyes to the rest of the weapons laid out in a neat row on the table, and Iris cringed.

While the man was leaving the room, Caspian wasted no time as he pulled the ends around her, binding her to the chair. He didn't dare say a word to her, in case the man was still within earshot, but Iris could feel the loose knot behind the chair's back as he subtly handed her the ends and stood back up.

"Let me go!" she screamed, whilst wondering where exactly their plan would go from here. The details within the warehouse were blurry. Caspian claimed it was hard to guess how things would go once they got in here. These extremists had really contorted ways of thinking, and it was difficult to predict their next move or reaction. Still, Iris was suddenly understanding Trevet's insistency for precise, strategical plans. This entire ploy could turn into a complete train wreck much too easily.

Caspian only looked at her, his expression unreadable as he briefly glanced behind him before bending over, roughly shaking Grandpa Sage with obvious urgency.

The elderly man was out cold, and Iris knew Caspian shared her same thought when he placed two fingers against the pulse in his neck. A heartbeat later, Caspian gave Iris a slight nod, and she loosened a breath. He was still alive. Just unconscious.

As if in confirmation, Grandpa Sage let out a soft whisper of a moan, and Iris allowed for some small relief to settle over her. She had to think positively, or this already-flimsy plan wouldn't have a chance in hell of working. Iris was just wondering how much time they had left to execute their plan, when Caspian spoke.

"Half an hour," Caspian murmured, as if reading her mind. Iris strained her ears to hear him, carefully watching his lips. Clearly, he was just as anxious about this plan. He hauled Grandpa Sage up carefully yet swiftly, resulting in another soft moan from the man as his knees buckled and he leaned his weight against Caspian. It seemed he was battling within himself between conscious and unconscious. Sage's eyes fluttered open, and he pushed against Caspian, a weak attempt to fight back. But Iris could see he was in no shape to do so. While from the legs down to his boots he appeared unharmed, his captors had clearly inched their way from his head to his torso, Sage's face was covered in purple, swelling bruises around the eyes, cheeks and jaw. Old blood was clearly visible around his nostrils and cracked lips. Iris clenched her teeth at the patches of crusty pus and blood on Sage's scalp, clearly visible through his tufts of shocking, white hair. She noted his garments – sticky and stiff on his big-built figure, due to what she could only assume was a mixture of sweat and dried blood. Iris had never seen a man covered in so much of his own blood. Iris swallowed the bile that threatened to rise in her throat. And the stench. Iris swallowed yet again. Although she was standing at least a metre away from him, the metallic smell that hit her nostrils was foul, making her eyes water momentarily. This was a week's worth of torture, standing in front of her.

"We're here to help," Iris dared whisper to Sage, who was breathing heavily, slowly gaining his wits. "My name is Iris. I'm Raena's sister and a friend of Braedon's, your grandson."

He glanced at her with a sudden expression of both familiarity and softness, though he remained silent. Still, he at least halted his attempts at fighting back, and his posture seemed to straighten a little with... hope, strength? Iris wasn't sure.

Caspian cast a sudden, sharp glance at the door, as if suspicious that the other man had already returned with the Commander in tow. He hastily turned his attention back to Iris, firmly gripping Sage under his armpit and ensuring he remained upright as he spoke. "Vents. Left. Rubbish. Back of warehouse."

Iris wasn't entirely sure she understood him, but Caspian was already walking towards the door, shaking his head at Sage who raised his bushy, white eyebrows in question.

"Escape now. Talk later," was all he gave Sage in answer, the wooden door creaking as Caspian opened it. Then, a moment later, they were gone, the door slamming shut behind them, and Iris was left alone in the dark, dank room, her only company the array of torture devices on the lonesome table to her left.

She repeated Caspian's words in her mind. Vents. Left. Rubbish. Back of warehouse.

They were instructions, that much she was sure. But this tiny warehouse room was completely empty, excluding the chair used to torture Sage, that she was now sitting on herself, and the weaponry table. She scanned the room from left to right again, noting the cracked cement beneath her feet and on the surrounding walls. The ceiling high above was also half-ruined, and behind her... A vent. On the ceiling just above, between the chair and table.

Making sure she could hear no approaching footsteps yet, Iris tugged on the loose knot around her arms and the ropes fell loosely down to the chair's legs. She stood, observing the vent's grate high above, and she silently replayed Caspian's instructions once more, noting that the vent probably lead to the rubbish, which would be at the back of the warehouse where, hopefully, Caspian was waiting for her with Grandpa Sage and a whole bunch of revolutionaries. Because this? This was the easy part, clearly. But she couldn't imagine the Lymphans allowing two prisoners to casually walk back out of their territory. It would be hard to walk back through that crowd of tents unnoticed.

Iris shook her head. She'd worry about that part of the plan when the time came. For now, she had to start moving or else risk never getting there in the first place.

Iris glanced at the table of knives once again, and though it pained her to do so, she grabbed the bloodied knife the man had previously picked up to cut through Sage's bonds. It was a reasonable size and fairly light. She had no idea how to use it, but if the moment called for it, she was sure she'd figure it out, fast. She slid the knife into her belt and checked the door again. Still no one.

Iris then stood on the chair, reaching up for the rusted vent just above her but her fingers only just grazed the metal. Iris wasn't sure if it was her paranoia kicking in, but she could have sworn she heard approaching footsteps. She panicked, jumping up and trying to get a grip of the vent to pull it down, but it was stuck, the metal too rigid and too old, and she was too short to get a proper hold on it, either.

Iris thought fast. She definitely wasn't hearing things. Someone was coming, and whether it was the Commander or not, she didn't want to stick around long enough to find out. She hopped off the chair and quickly placed it onto the metal table instead, pushing the line of torture devices aside.

Climbing onto the chair at this height was stupidly dangerous considering the wooden furniture looked old and rickety and not at all stable but... she glanced nervously at the door before climbing up onto the table and carefully placing one foot then the other onto the chair, giving herself a moment to balance before grabbing the vent above with both hands. Now she had a firmer grip. She grunted as her knuckles whitened and her fingers slipped through the grates, pulling. After some effort, the grate came loose, hanging on its hinge, and she almost lost her footing with the sudden release of tension. Out of panicked adrenaline, she reached one hand up, then another. She winced as she pulled her body weight up and into the vent. Her heart drummed against her chest as it occurred to her that the footsteps had stopped... meaning that whoever had arrived, was waiting just outside the door.

She didn't wait for her eyes to adjust to the blackness as kicked the chair off the table, hoping the sound would be distracting enough to earn her a few extra seconds of escape. She quickly and quietly closed the grate behind her just as there was a splintering crack when the chair hit the ground. Iris saw the doorhandle turning just as she scooted further back into the vent, breathing heavily. Then she turned in the tightly-squeezed space and crawled in the only direction that she could – forwards, trying desperately not to make a sound as the metal groaned particularly loudly in her ears. It was hard and cold beneath her hands and knees but she continued crawling nonetheless, her breath hitching with every squeak her shoes made when in contact with the metal, every ruffle her clothes made as she continued onwards, and the creak in which the vent responded to her weight.

When she made it to an intersection, her heart skipped a beat. Then she remembered Caspian's words. Vents. Left. Rubbish. Back of warehouse.

She turned left, following the narrow vent further along, her palms and knees now aching with the pressure. She held her breath each time she reached a grate, hesitantly glancing down before passing over it. Iris crawled above dozens of rooms, some empty and some containing Border Patrols that were huddled together over a game of cards or casually chatting. She was extra careful when passing over them, only exhaling when she made it across each grate.

Iris kept taking lefts. She wasn't sure if it was the right route, but it was the only instruction in terms of directions that Caspian had given her. So, she continued to crawl, until she finally saw the end of the vent angling downwards, where a rubbish chute was clearly connected. She had arrived. She only had one last, exposing grate to pass over.

Iris's stomach churned in anticipation as she carefully peeped over, dreading to see a Border Patrol member looking up by some unfortunate chance and spotting her. But what Iris saw was far worse than what she could have ever imagined.

Her heart momentarily stopped, and her breathing became ragged at she stared at the male strapped down to what she could only assume was used as a torture bed, lines of indecipherable instruments neatly arranged on the metal table beside him, the room similar to the one that had previously imprisoned Sage. His arms and legs were strapped down to the bed, and he lay face-up, right above the grate. His eyes opened wide at the sight of Iris high above and she knew he had already spotted her before she mouthed, "Braedon?"