Luke stared at the damp stone ceiling of their cell, the muffled sounds of the mansion's nightly activities filtering through the walls. Jake lay on his cot across the room, his back wrapped in bandages that were already stained dark red. His breathing was shallow, each exhale carrying a faint hiss of pain.

"You should rest," Luke muttered, breaking the heavy silence.

Jake chuckled bitterly, the sound rasping in his throat. "What's the point? Can't rest when every breath feels like fire."

Luke sighed and sat up, his hands clasped loosely between his knees. He'd seen slaves beaten before, but seeing Jake dragged back, barely conscious and whipped like an animal, had lit a fire in him that he couldn't extinguish.

"She'll do it again, you know," Luke said quietly, his voice barely audible over the drip of water from the corner.

Jake turned his head, his green eyes flashing in the dim light. "Not if we're gone."

Luke froze, the words hanging in the air like a blade poised to fall. "Gone?"

Jake propped himself up on one elbow, wincing as the movement pulled at his wounds. "Yeah. Gone. Out of this damned mansion, out of their reach. You can't tell me you haven't thought about it."

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Luke stared at him, his jaw tightening. "Thinking about it and doing it are two different things. You know what happens to escapees. They don't just kill you—they make an example out of you. Out of everyone."

"And what's the alternative?" Jake shot back, his voice rising despite the strain. "Stay here? Let them beat us, bleed us dry, or worse?"

Luke looked away, his hands clenching into fists. He had thought about it—dreamed of it, even. But every time, the harsh reality crushed the fleeting hope.

"There's no way out," Luke said finally, his voice flat. "This place is a fortress. The guards, the gates... even if we made it out, they'd hunt us down."

Jake swung his legs over the edge of his cot, his movements slow and pained. "There's always a way out. You just have to find it."

Luke's eyes flicked to Jake's face, noting the determined set of his jaw despite the bruises and cuts. "You sound like you already have a plan."

"Not yet," Jake admitted, "but I'm working on it. I've been watching the guards, the routines. There are gaps—small ones, but they're there."

Luke shook his head. "It's suicide."

"Maybe," Jake said, leaning forward, his voice low and urgent. "But if we stay, we're dead anyway. At least out there, we have a chance. Don't you want more than this? Don't you want to fight back?"

Luke didn't answer. The fire in his chest burned brighter, but it was tempered by a crushing weight of fear and doubt.

Jake sighed and leaned back against the wall, his expression softening. "I'm not saying we do it tomorrow. But think about it, Luke. We can't just survive—we have to live."

Luke stared at the floor, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows across the room. Jake's words echoed in his mind, planting a seed that would take root whether he wanted it to or not.

"I'll think about it," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jake nodded, a faint smile tugging at his split lip. "That's all I ask."