Inside a dim room. Elara sat tied to a chair, her wrists bound tightly behind her. Her fingers had gone stiff from how long she had been struggling.
She pressed the rope against the leg of the chair again, moving her hands back and forth. But the wood was smooth and round so it offered no help at all. The rope did not loosen or even fray. It only burned deeper into her skin.
Sweat gathered along her forehead and slid down the side of her face as she breath heavily. She paused for a second and pricked her ears.
The place outside was still quiet.
She swallowed and continued. As she struggled again, her wrist brushed against something sharp. She froze for a second, then slowly shifted her hands, feeling it carefully.
There, just at the side of the chair, a small nail tip stuck out a bit from the wood.
Her eyes sharpened immediately. With effort, she dragged the rope upward inch by inch, until it caught against the nail. Then she began to work it back and forth.
