“Am I your prisoner?” “Yes.” His monotone inflection hadn’t changed, but something in his eyes said he relished the fact. “Well,” I started with more bravado than I felt, “do I get to know the name of the man holding me captive?” “He sees himself as the brave one.” “Or are you afraid of me knowing? Think I might tell someone once I get out of here?” I fisted my trembling hands behind my back. A spark of challenge, and maybe even pity, lit his eyes, as if he wanted to say I wouldn’t be making it out of here alive. “Sparrow,” he whispered. “His name is Sparrow. I met him once, only I didn’t know
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