Ravić moved to the cell beside mine once I've finished my feeding and he had made sure that my mind had cleared, and that I was okay. He needed to sate his own hunger, that had grown the moment he watched me lose control.
I didn't want to see it. Didn't even want to hear it. So I walked toward the entrance instead, turning my back as the man's desperate cries filled the room. The sound of Ravić's feeding, his groans and the wet slurping noises, echoed off the concrete. I pressed my hand to the wall, forcing the noise out of my mind.
That's when I saw it. A clipboard hanging by the door, that I hadn't noticed before.
Curious, I flipped through the pages, the paper smudged and creased from the handling. These were profiles. Dozens of them. Names, photos, their lists of crimes. Every one of them marked for shipment tomorrow, where their bloods would be drained to feed others like us on the other side of the border. Home.
