Allene’s POV
Pain has a way of sharpening memory.
Long after the crowd had dispersed and the training ground returned to its usual rhythm of clashing bodies and barking commands, my body still remembered every second of the humiliation ritual. My skin burned where the whip had kissed it, my muscles screamed with every movement, and somewhere deep inside my chest, something fragile had cracked.
I sat alone in the far corner of the barracks, knees drawn to my chest, my back pressed against the cold stone wall. The shadows felt safer than the light. In the darkness, no one could stare. No one could point. No one could remind me of how low I had fallen.
I pressed a damp cloth to the worst of the wounds, my fingers trembling despite my efforts to steady them. The cuts weren’t deep enough to
