NIGHT CAME and went like a breeze. Morning came, the sun was scorching even when it was heavily covered by the high alcoves of the leaves, and the early risers of the birds were singing rather loudly. But Knox had not given up, yet. Not when Sawyer had already done everything he could to make him talk. Not when even Flint begged him to just say it because she could not take it anymore, seeing him getting hurt. Not when Sawyer had to put out his men one by one, making me sick to my stomach.
Knox would never say it, and by the time he dropped unconscious from the silver blade that Sawyer took out, we all knew it, too.
He walked over to me sitting against a tree. My back slumped backward, eyes unmoving from the state of Knox. He was battered. Blue and purple painted his nice golden skin. I
