Chapter 40 Maxon
Chapter forty
Maxon
Iwake groggy, my mind thick with confusion.
The world around me spins as I blink into the shadowy surroundings, my mouth dry as sandpaper.
But something’s different—something is missing.
The constant hunger, the gnawing emptiness that’s plagued me for days, is gone.
It takes a moment to register, the absence so strange that I instinctively brace for it, expecting the sharp pang to return. It doesn’t.
I take stock of my body, and my pulse stammers, then surges, sending a jolt of alarm through me. I look down, scanning for the familiar aches and pains, the bruises, the cuts—broken bones and gashes I’ve come to accept.
But they’re not there.
It can’t be.
My skin is smooth, unmarked. Every wound, every trace of the torture I’ve endured is gone.