Thessian walked to the elevator and pressed the button, then turned back one last time before the doors opened. "You're making this harder than it needs to be, Princess," he said with something that might have been regret or might have been satisfaction, it was impossible to tell. "But that's fine. I have nothing but time and patience. And you? You have forty-seven hours until your mind starts to fracture irreparably. Let's see how long your stubbornness lasts when reality itself begins to dissolve."
The elevator doors slid open and he disappeared inside. The music started again immediately, even louder than before, the discordant sounds assaulting her ears with renewed viciousness. The lights blazed back to their previous blinding brightness, making her eyes water and her head pound.
And Liora was left alone once more with her guards and her ghosts and the horrible certainty that this torment was only the beginning of what she would endure.
Darius walked over with another bucket of water, cold this time, she could see the condensation on the outside. He threw it at her without warning or mercy.
"Rise and shine, murderer," he said with artificial cheerfulness that made her want to scream. "We're just getting started with you."
Liora wiped the frigid water from her face with shaking hands and forced herself to stand again despite her body's violent protests. Her whole being screamed in agony, muscles trembling, skin burning where the hot water had scalded her earlier, vision swimming with exhaustion and emerging hallucinations at the edges of her perception.
But she was still standing upright. Still fighting against the forces trying to break her. Still refusing to confess to a crime she didn't commit, no matter what they did to her body or mind.
Forty-seven hours to go, she thought with grim determination. I can do this. I have to do this.
Because if she broke now, if she confessed to something she didn't do, then the real killer would never be found and brought to justice. Aria Nightfang would never receive the true justice she deserved. And Liora would die knowing she'd been too weak to fight for the truth, too cowardly to stand up for herself even when it mattered most.
So she stood despite the agony. She ignored the hallucinations creeping into her peripheral vision like malevolent spirits. She blocked out the pain as best she could. And she started counting the minutes until she could begin fighting back in earnest rather than simply enduring.
Because somewhere in this nightmare, there was a truth waiting to be uncovered, a truth about who really killed Aria Nightfang and why they had chosen Liora's face as their mask. And Liora Ashenbane, the forgotten princess, the expendable daughter, the girl who'd never been strong or brave or remarkable in any way, was going to find that truth even if the search destroyed her completely.
Kira pulled out the incident report again with obvious relish. "Subject twenty, male, age seven, died from....."
Liora closed her eyes for just one second, gathering what remained of her strength and courage. Then she opened them and stared straight at Kira with something new burning in her gaze, not hope exactly, but determination forged in suffering.
"Read it," she said quietly but clearly. "Read all of it. I want to know every single person who died that night. Because when I prove I'm innocent, I'm going to find who really killed them. And I'm going to make absolutely sure they pay for what they did."
Kira stopped reading mid-sentence, surprise flickering visibly across her face. Darius laughed, but it sounded less certain than before. "You? Are you going to find the killer? You can barely stand up without falling over."
"Not today," Liora admitted with brutal honesty. "But I have three weeks before the full moon. And I'm a fast learner when my life depends on it."
She didn't know where the words came from or where she found the strength to say them with such conviction. But something fundamental had shifted in her during that twenty-fifth hour of torture, some internal transformation that she couldn't quite name or understand.
She'd realized something essential: she was going to suffer anyway, no matter what she said or did. She was going to be tortured anyway for the remaining time. She was probably going to die anyway when the full moon rose. So she might as well fight for the truth with everything she had left, because what else was there?