29
His first gasp into consciousness was wet and garbled, rasping in his throat as if he’d just been pulled from a raging river. It might have been the physical pain that brought him back, but the realization that he was alive was far more agonizing.
Lukas drew his hand across the filthy ground from beside his head to push himself up. All he could manage was a weak roll until he lay on his back. That didn’t feel any better than when he’d landed on the streets of the city’s lower levels, face-first in the muck—right where he belonged. His eyes were so swollen, he could barely open them, but what little he could see was enough to remind him of his overwhelming worthlessness. The roiling sky was lit now by the morning sun, its once life-giving rays barely managing to pierce through the film
