Chapter Eighty-Three
Asher
The tremor runs down my arms, and the cuffs bite deeper into my wrists. The smallest movements bring pain. My toes cramp in my boots. I don’t remember my last drink of water.
I’m starting to forget what it felt like to stand on my own.
Something’s…different.
I can’t—
Jay said… Earlier. An hour? Two? Time has gotten creative in ways I can no longer track. But something… What was it…
“Voss said he was handling this.”
I surface from…where? Not here. A place with a soft bed and a softer voice and…
Phil snorts. “If he doesn’t, shit’s gonna get ugly.”
They were both on edge. Meaner. The questions faster. Less methodical. Every one followed by a punch or a change of position or—
My head is full of static. Is that my heartbeat? Their words are already gone.
My head drops. Snaps back up. The lapses are getting worse. If I fall out of this chair, I’ll break my wrist. Dislocate my shoulder. I’ve had better days.
The paper. Still in my hand. Won’t let it go. Can’t. Fingers barely straighten.
Follow my lead.
Something’s…different.
She’s working the angles.
I can’t—
I choose you, too.