<span style="font-size: 18px"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff"><b>Trigger Warning - Illian is an asshole.</b></span></span><br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff9999">She’d woken up with a blanket thrown over her naked body, shivering and bound still. With no real concept of time down here, she could only guess how long she’d been held. That and there was no way to even track if there was a pattern to Illian’s coming and going, as she’d no idea if she’d slept for hours or minutes. Still, this time she had some hints to help her. The blood he’d spilled from his most recent job was still fresh, an insight she’d gained from the small broken peice of brick she’d tossed into it. Hoping that meant he’d recently left and she had some time, Castellis went to work on her restraints.<br/>
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By the time he’d gotten back, she’d managed to break off a slender strip of metal from the cuffs, though she’d mangled and damaged them beyond repair in the process. At the sound of the door, she’d managed to slip the improvised lockpick into a thin crack in the wall, hidden by the pallet he’d been nice enough to give her to sleep on, and thrown the restraints through the bars, aimed for his face. </span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff4d4d">“Bastard.” </span>