Another day passed in Noah’s captivity, though the word “day” no longer meant anything. Time had lost its meaning. He sat in the corner of his bed, his chains still tied in it. The elegant room now felt cold. His eyes were tired and hollow, his lips dry and broken. But worse than the hunger or thirst he was feeling the moment were the pictures that stayed in his mind — things he wished he could forget.
The glass jars.
The lifeless eyes staring from within.
The pale, preserved bodies.
The bones dressed with rings, the hair tied with ribbons.
Noah couldn’t stop the bad images in his head, no matter how hard he tried. Every time he closed his eyes, they came back, telling him, “You will be next.”
Alistair was crazy, and every day with him made Noah lose a bit of himself. He felt scared,
