He nodded. “I belong to no one. My body is my own, and they will not have what they want from me-just as they did not have my blood in their fighting pits.”

“They’ll kill you if you resist.”

He set the water bowl upon the pallet in his cell and returned to her. With one finger, he touched her cheek, caressing her scarred flesh and trailing his finger down to her chin. “I survived the pits just as you survived this wound. We are alike.” He leaned toward her, his mouth so close. “Help me, Hessa. Find a way to get me out.” His fingertip brushed her lips.

She stared at his mouth, thinking she would do anything he asked, anything at all if only he would kiss her. She imagined how commanding yet soft his large lips would feel crushing against hers. Would he taste good? Would he thread his fingers in her hair and pull her closer? Would he push his tongue into her mouth? A blush crept up her neck, heating her skin.

She swallowed hard and reached past the bars to set her fingers on his mouth. His lips parted. The soft wetness of the tip of his tongue met her skin before she pulled away, startled at what she had done. She shouldn’t be with him, shouldn’t let him touch her, and if she were caught tracing his lips, she faced a harsh punishment.

“Help me. I’ll do anything you ask of me, if you help me get home.”

“Home,” she repeated. “Where is Chalois? I’ve never heard of it.”

Her words seemed to disappoint him, judging by the way his forehead crinkled. “An island. Far from this place. A beautiful island where men are not kept in cages unless they deserve to be there for committing crimes. I come from a place where there is order, not chaos like Bisura.”

She didn’t fully understand what he meant. To her, Bisura had order. There were guilds, tradesfolk, and the brothels. The castes were of the rich, the mid-class workers, and those born into or forced into slavery. But a place where men only stayed behind bars for committing crimes? The entire assassin’s guild would be there.