Chapter 11Adrien didn’t get any sleep the previous night. He wriggled on the narrow, uncomfortable bunk. His leg hurt like never before, he groaned and sighed in pain. Prisoners from neighbouring cells cursed him and kept making vulgar and obscene jokes. Some whined that he would bring misfortune upon them, as the other one had before, whatever that meant.
But the fact was, there was a metallic scent of blood in the air. Faint, but still noticeable, despite the gargantuan amounts of soap. Steve, on the other hand, complaining of a headache, fell asleep straight away and only woke up at the crack of dawn. Collins sat on his bunk, bleary-eyed, massaging his sore and swollen leg. Wright was staring dully at the ceiling while laying down. He was praying; the rosary was the only thing he could
