CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
PRIYAThe only advantage to being in the lousy cell Aerion put me in is that there is time to recover from the darkness. I lay on my back on a bare cot, watching the lights flickering above me. They follow a schedule of a needle being jabbed into my arm with the world going fuzzy. Although it seems routine when the nurse comes in and sticks me, it’s unpredictable, like lightning. Between the injections and the quivering lights, I have no concept of time.
The only constant is this endless screeching. It doesn’t stop. It’s a melody of screams, sobs, and agony. I can’t distinguish what’s worse: the misery of hearing it, or the torture of those enduring it, but this source is in a distant area I can’t seem to map out. In distress, I slam my arms down on the bed and shout
