She’s curled in a pathetic ball on the blood-stained floor, sobbing like she’s the victim. Her ribs shake with each breath, filth caked into her skin, her eyes swollen from crying.
I don’t feel pity. Not for her. Not for someone who ordered the deaths of children like they were pests.
“Get up,” I say coldly, no emotion in my voice. My throat is raw, my body aching, my heart already bleeding out. “You’ll go to a new cell. You’ll get water. No food. But only when I say so. And then, you’re going to contact every single piece of s**t involved in this, and you’re going to tell them the truth. Not for redemption. Not because you deserve peace. But because you owe every second of your life to the families who lost everything.”
She doesn’t move. Just keeps sobbing.
I don’t care.
I turn from
