Simon’s eye was so swollen he could scarcely see. Blood dripped from his mouth, and he guessed from the way his head wanted to tilt lopsided that his nose was broken. He coughed weakly, his ribs screeching in pain from the effort. The other prisoners took a few collective steps back as the guard opened the gate and dumped Simon onto the floor.
“What was that for?” There was no shock or anger in Mal-Chin’s voice, only a tender, tired sort of concern.
Simon tried to shrug and ended up groaning instead. He heard the sound of ripping cloth. “Here.” A young man with two fingers missing held out a strip of uniform-gray cloth from his uniform. “Use it to stop the bleeding.”
Simon groaned again as Mal-Chin wadded up the rag and shoved it against his nose. He needed to cough, but his body wouldn
