A fresh bruise maybe. He studied it, observing her face as she was dragged in, checking to see what new damage they’d inflicted upon her while she was away. Yes, a fresh bruise beneath her eye. And what else? Declan imagined any number of cruelties done to her. Had they raped her? He wanted to ask but didn’t dare. He saw physical bruises, and the invisible bruises she might only talk about later. His rage surged, over his own pain, his own uncertainty. All he knew at this moment, staring at her, studying her every expression, was the desire to save her. Even more than he wanted to save himself. She might talk about what they’d done to her, or she might swallow it up and never mention it ever again. These were the types of decisions he knew as a soldier and hated that she knew it at all.

“Sophia . . .”

She sat hunched up, arms wrapped around herself as her captor roughly set her on the ground nearby, then retreated. The call to prayers. He had heard one of the men calling from outside. It sounded distant. Had they taken shelter in the dilapidated structure? How many remained to guard the entrance to the tunnel?

He turned back to Sophia. She sat with her arms wrapped close around her body. Completely shut off to the world. Definitely shut off to him. Declan said again, “Sophia . . . ”

She looked up at him. God, those bruises, the swelling along the side of her jaw, the bruising around her eyes, the right one looking tender and puffy.

“Declan,” she mumbled.

“Are you okay?” What a stupid question. Obviously, she wasn’t.

“I’m about as okay as you are.”

“I’m not too okay,” he said, thinking she was probably a lot worse than not too okay. But he waited for her to say it. He didn’t want to presume. All he really wanted to do was reach on over and hold her and hug her. Be with her gently.

“It’s okay,” he said, watching her cry and feeling his heart break for her. “It’s okay to be human once in a while.”

“Yeah, I’m doing slightly less than that.”

“No, I think you’re doing amazing, for survival. Your will to survive . . .”

“Has gotten me here.”

“Here is alive,” Declan said.

She sniffled. “Here is in some kind of mine or cave with no chance of escape, with no hope, with no—”

“I’m your hope,” Declan said, interrupting her.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m your hope, here, in this mine. As long as you’re with me, you’re okay.”

“Well, I don’t feel too okay.”

“You will,” Declan said, “Once you get out of here.”

She took a breath. “I know one of the captors.”

He’d guessed at it, but her words still took his breath away, like a punch to the gut. Had they been watching her, stalking her, for longer than anyone had known? “Who?”

“His name is Sajad, he’s the one doing all the talking. He’s the son of the rich industrialist, Abbas, the guy whose dinner I disappeared from.”

“Well,” Declan said, “at least now I know the name of the person I’m going to kill.”

“No,” she said, “No, don’t kill Sajad. He’s trying to help us, and he can’t do that if he’s dead.”

“How can he help us? He kidnapped you!”

“I don’t know what he’s really doing,” Sophia said. “He’s the son of someone I know, who wants to help us. He . . . he pretended to rape me back there, but he didn’t. He put on a show for them, at least an audible one.” She looked toward him. “I think he’s trying to help us. He did what he did to keep the others away from me. What does that mean to you?”

Declan shrugged. “It means we’re screwed.” He had no weapon, no way to fight these men besides his fists, and that hadn’t gotten him or Sophia anywhere. Not yet.

“I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit,” Sophia said, her face twitching slightly in pain when she shifted her position. Her voice sounded more impatient, frustrated. He could relate. The urge to fight back but the inability to do so had Declan nearly crawling out of his skin. He was there to save her, to give her the chance . . . that was what he did.

“So,” he said, “I guess I’ll have to hope you’re right, about Sajad, and go with the plan.”

“I’m not even sure what the plan is exactly,” she said, “But it doesn’t include harming Sajad.”

“What does it include, then? Who can we harm?”

“I know, you’re a hammer looking for a nail.”

“I’m a soldier with a score to settle. Just point me in the right direction.”

“The right direction is patience, for now,” she said. “And getting the hell out of here and back to civilization. Of surviving this. Then you can hammer your nails.”

He watched her go quiet and still as the guard re-entered, him walking over and not saying anything, until Declan broke the silence in Arabic. “How much longer?”

“For what?” the man replied.

“For everything.”

The guard looked at him, dumb-faced. It was proper Arabic, and he’d said it well, but the man had no reaction. He stood there, thinking, frozen in place. It was a good distraction, much better than he anticipated. It was just what he’d needed to start the process of taking his fate into his own hands.

It would begin here.

With her, and him, and this.

He leapt up, surprising the man. In the next instant, he had one arm wrapped around the man’s neck. The other hand grasped the base of his skull. He held his breath and twisted. Hard. He heard a hard pop, and the man went limp in his arms.

A gasp sounded behind him. Declan turned and saw Sophia, staring wide eyed at him, mouth open in a silent scream. She suddenly turned and threw up into the dirt, her stomach heaving. It took him a moment to remember that she was a civilian and that she was a normal person, an art curator living a comfortable American life, perhaps never engaging in any type of violence. He just hoped that it would be the last time she would have to see something so terrible, the last time he’d have to end someone’s life in order to save theirs.

“Turn off for a minute,” he told her. “Turn off your brain, your feelings, your everything. If you want to live.”

She was weeping now.

“Do you want to live?”

She nodded.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Then why not come with me now and get out of here?” He moved to the opening of the tunnel, one careful step at a time. He heard nothing outside. He glanced behind him over his shoulder, saw her close behind. “Ready?” he whispered.

She said, “No,” as she already started moving, her body already in agreement with the command before her eyes could harden into it. Before she could finally look him straight in the face and nod and say, “I’m still not ready, but let’s do this.”

And they did, Declan quickly slipping past the opening, turning toward the structures and not seeing anyone else moving about outside. Foolish. They had left only one guard standing at the tunnel entrance while the others went about their prayers. Probably thinking both of them were too battered and wounded to escape. Their mistake. With the light of the moon, he could see the traces, the outlines of the various mine faces. Small dark openings along the mountainside. More good places to hide.

“Up there?” she said, pointing to one of them. Declan was glad that she was finally thinking ahead, going past not being ready and now finally taking some initiative in their escape.

Jogging now, side by side as they scrambled across the loose stones of the mountain. No words. Just breathing.

A good pace, until she approached another mine entrance, mere feet away, slowing down until he had to nudge her and ask, “What the hell’s the problem?”

She was standing still, looking into the mine entrance.

“Sophia . . .”

“I’m so fucking scared,” she said.

“What?” he hissed. “All the explosions and the guns and the lunatics trying to kill you, and you’re scared of a fucking mine?”

“I have, um . . . I have like a phobia.”

“Of mines?”

She shrugged. “The dark.”

He shook his head in disbelief. Declan said, “How about of AK-47s? Are you scared of those, too?”

She was still standing motionless, until he pushed her forward. “Come on,” he said, “don’t make us find out.”

It was good enough for a few steps forward, Sophia wandering and maybe wondering. But Declan needed a lot more than wondering. He needed action.