The scream didn't start in my throat. It started in my marrow, a jagged, electric surge that ripped through my nerves before I even realized I was conscious. I bolted upright, my lungs burning as I fought for air that smelled like damp earth and old, dried blood.
"Mama! Stop it!"
Sasha’s voice was sharp, cutting through the red haze in my vision. I felt his small, cold hands grabbing my shoulders, trying to pin me back against the hard stone floor. I was thrashing, my heels kicking at the dust, my good arm flailing wildly.
My broken arm the one Elias-4 had snapped like a dry twig hit the wall.
The pain was a physical weight. It wasn't "white-hot." It was a dull, nauseating grind of bone on bone that made me want to vomit. I slumped back, gasping, sweat stinging my eyes.
"I'm okay," I
