In the cold, damp interrogation room that smelled of blood, Kai sat leaning against the wall. His body was stiff and hard to move. He couldn't sit in the chair for long.
His hands trembled as he placed the empty bowl on the floor. He didn't want to eat; his stomach was churning. But he remembered Sylas' words. His master wanted him to eat a lot. So he forced himself to finish the porridge with a few pieces of chicken.
Now his stomach twisted in pain. He hoped he wouldn't throw up. Several times, he rubbed the stitches on his body—they were uncomfortable and painful.
His eyes never left the iron door. Every time it opened, they widened with hope. Hoping Sylas would come. But he was always disappointed when it was just the guard bringing food or a blanket.
He leaned his head against the wall, his eyes heavy. Cold sweat drenched his temples despite the freezing air in the cell. His face was pale. His body felt hot, like it was burning from the inside. He knew he had a fever.
