Twenty-Two
I clutch the balcony railing to keep myself steady as I look down at Chase. They tortured every part of him, but his back is definitely the worst. I have to look away from the torn mess of skin so I don’t throw up. I inch along the balcony, barely breathing as Angelica reaches the base of the stairs. She nudges Chase’s arm with her foot. He doesn’t move. “The witches told me to leave someone guarding you,” she says, “or to at least attach these chains to the wall. But I knew you weren’t going anywhere. I left the bowl of fruit here to prove it to them. To show that even though you’re starving and no doubt desperate for food, you’re unable to move an inch. I’m glad to see I was right.” She leans back against the balustrade, swinging something around and around her finger: a key
