Page 31 of Glutton for Punishment

He breathes me in, forehead pressing against my temple, and I let myself melt into it, even if it’s only for a moment.

“I’m here,” I murmur, more for him than for me. “I’m okay.”

The hard truth is I don’t know how much more of these experiments I can take. My body is reaching its breaking point.

His fingers tremble as they trace over my skin, avoiding the worst of it. I avoid reading into it. I know he needs this, needs to know I’m solid, breathing, real.

When his breathing evens out, I pull back just enough to meet his eyes.

“It worked,” I whisper. “Sort of. Barely. But it worked.”

His head snaps up. “You used your power?” Alarm slices through his voice.

“Yeah.” I huff a weak laugh. “Would’ve been great if the void showed up before all the cutting, but I guess beggars can’t be choosers.”

He swears under his breath, hands curling into fists against the bars. Pride and terror war across his face. “Arwen—”

“I know,” I cut in. “I know.”

He knows this means the experiments will continue… proof that the pain is working.

I slip out of his reach before he can argue, before he can see how badly my legs are shaking. I move toward the corner of my cell, to the loose stone hiding my stolen Sloth relics.

This is where I spend what little energy I have left.

I pull the three relics free, their weight familiar in my palm. Familiar, but cold and unresponsive.

I sink down against the wall, knees pulled to my chest, and turn them over one by one, searching for anything. Any sign that they’re more than dead weight.

It’s probably futile. I’ve been examining them every day before I succumb to exhaustion.

But I need something to work on. Something that takes my focus away from the pain.

“I saw nothing new today either,” I say, more to myself than to him. “Outside the lift and the lab. There’s nowhere else they’ve taken me. No windows. No doors.”

I glance up at him. “I’ve tried talking to the scientists. Not the ones who run the experiments, but the low-level ones. The ones who clean me up. Not even insults get a reaction. They won’t say a word to me.”

Atticus exhales, anger simmering beneath the surface. “They’re keeping you blind on purpose.”

“I know.”

I roll one stone between my fingers, jaw tightening. “Which means if we’re getting out of here, it won’t be because they slip up.”

Atticus lets out a rough breath, scrubbing a hand over his face. “We’ll figure something out. There’s always a weak link. A disgruntled guard, someone who realizes Councilor Blaise’s information is worth more than their loyalty. They’d have to know my father would pay.” He pauses, then adds, quieter, “We are in Greed, right?”

I snort at his attempt at humor.

He gives the faintest twitch of a smile, but it dies fast. Sinking back against the wall of his cell, his shoulders slump. “All I can do is sit here. I’ve just never felt so useless.”

The word lands heavy. Useless. Tilting my head, I study him through the bars.

“I know the feeling. No one knows feeling useless quite like I do.”

He winces. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I shrug. “I survived it. Out of spite.”

I drop my gaze back to the stones in my lap, rolling them between my fingers. One clinks against the concrete. I set it aside and pick up the gray one again. It’s rough.