Summer lifted her head from her knees at the sound of footsteps, and blinked in confusion at the sight of someone new. Usually the sly one brought her food, what little she was given, but this person was a blonde girl, close to her own age. She uncurled, as much as she could, and reached for the food, slowly.
“I’m Summer,” she whispered. “Are you — are you a prisoner too?” Her hands shook as she held the cup of water.
Erica smiled slightly at that. “Not technically, no. Thought it does feel like it sometimes. Do you know why they have you here, Summer? Are you something supernatural?” She tried to ease her by continuing to smile softly, hoping that it would help.
The question struck too close to what the men had asked her, over and over. “I’m not what you think I am,” she said, hopelessly. “I’m not.” She couldn’t stop herself flinching backwards, against the bars of the cage. “You have to believe me.”