            Seven days. At least, she thought it was seven. It was hard to keep track, with no light but the single bulb fixed to the concrete ceiling. The meals helped little to mark the time passing, as they served her the same bread, water, and stew twice a day with no disruption, no interruption to her silence except for the faint  pop  of magic when the tray appeared in the corner, then another  pop when it disappeared, whether she’d eaten or not. Most days, at least one of the trays was left empty. Her appetite had abandoned her. Or maybe she’d abandoned it.