Lyla
I looked through the one way mirror at Malcolm. He was strung up, his arms above his head. He dangled there looking healthy and well rested. We’ve been back for a month and a half, six whole weeks, for him to heal, to gain some confidence that he’s done being tortured. I can’t wait to disabuse him of that hope. They’ve fed him. I can tell more than the cheese and bread I authorized. He’s bathed and looks mentally sound. But he won’t be for long.
Kellen and Conner were standing like two sentries next to me, waiting for me to make a move. The outside door opened and Wolf walked in.
“Don’t be mad,” he said the moment he saw me.
“I’m not,” I said, still staring at Malcolm.
“He needed to heal, I wanted to give him some hope that he'd be let go. He’s been eating well. Steak, chicken
