Betrayal did not arrive with anger. It arrived with calm.
Sable sensed it in the quiet efficiency of the infirmary the morning after the punishment, in the way her name appeared on a new schedule without comment, in the fact that no one questioned the order when she was reassigned again despite barely being able to lift her arm. Grimridge had accepted that she would be hurt. Now it was deciding how much damage could be justified before someone important objected.
Her shoulder burned relentlessly, the joint stiff and unstable beneath layers of binding. Each movement sent a dull, nauseating throb through her chest where ribs had not yet settled back into alignment. The healer had warned her not to strain it, had warned her that another impact could cause permanent damage.
Warnings assumed choice.
