Vin woke up with the sinking realization he had, once again, no idea where he was. He cracked open one eyelid. White, white, white. Too much light. He groaned, squeezed his eyes shut. The faintest smell of urine and vomit reached his nostrils and he groaned again.
He was lying on something hard and cold. He turned his head and rested his cheek on cool linoleum.
His chest ached. And his throat. Like he’d been screaming for hours. Even groaning in pain hurt. How was that fair?
Vin opened his eyes again, squinting them to slits. He was looking at the base of a toilet, a cold and white and towering edifice. Porcelain throne. Yeah, he felt like that, a penitent groveling before the king. The floor was clean. No stray hairs or beard clippings or that white fluffy dust that accumulated around
