Cyprus, seven months later…
Craven paced in front of the hut. Phoenix’s agonizing screams inside tugged at his heart. It was killing him to hear her in so much pain. He was helpless to help her, and guilt ate away at him. It was his fault. He had done this to her, and now she suffered — hours and hours of blood and pain.
He could not bear it a moment longer. Craven turned and stalked toward the door. He had to do something. The door opened, and the old woman that had been attending to Phoenix placed her soiled hands on his chest, preventing Craven from going inside. “Get out of my way, old woman,” he snapped.
“You will do her no good in there, panicking and getting her worked up and frightened,” she said, trying to hold him back.
“Mo
