My body felt like a map of my recent failures.
My wrists were raw and chafed from the ropes. My arm burned where the glass had sliced it during the ambush. And now, thanks to Vexa, the back of my head throbbed with a dull, rhythmic ache where she had slammed me against the logs.
I limped across the small bedroom, trying to walk off the stiffness in my hip. Every step sent a jolt of pain up my spine.
I sat back down on the edge of the cot, defeated.
So this is my life now, I thought bitterly. Locked in a room, waiting for someone to feed me or beat me.
I looked at the bowl of cold, gray porridge on the table. Vexa had spilled half of it during her tirade. It looked about as appetizing as wet cement, but the hollow ache in my stomach was becoming impossible to ignore
