A well. They were in a well. Something – the moon? A flashlight? - cast a light beam through a shaft. Water was streaming down.
“Illya...” Napoleon Solo froze. Wherever the enemy had taken him, he was alone. The library was an evil delusion. The incoherent Illya was part of it, which was eventually reassuring.
“Hey, you...” he yelled at the light above without success. The moon didn't answer.
He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. How long had he been there? His chin and his cheeks were amazingly smooth. No stubble...
“Cards? Dice? Chess? Which do you prefer?”