When McDivett awoke he was lying on a cot in a smaller chamber. The stones overhead were unbroken but for two rectangular recesses that let in a soft white light. He assumed it must be morning. The operation had failed. Perhaps he and his men were part of a new rescue mission. Operation f**k-up. Perhaps not.
Across the room, a young woman stood at a table using a mortar and pestle. Her long hair was tied back in a simple knot. She wore a thin white gown that stopped just short of her ankles. Her hands worked diligently to grind up pieces of a black substance that was piled in a small mound on the table beside her.
McDivett sat up. His head pounded. The woman turned.
"You're awake," she said, and smiled.
"What time is it?" asked McDivett.
"Time?" She looked up to the ceiling. "Day time
