The cell was small, cold, dark, and I had been in it long enough that I had stopped counting the days. I spent the first day trying to find a way out, checking the walls, the floor, the door, feeling along the stones for anything loose, anything I could use, and there was nothing because the cell was a box and I was trapped inside it. I spent the second day thinking about Xavia, about the way he looked at me when I said I loved him, about the way his voice cracked when he told me to run, about the blood on his hands and the tears on his face and the way he reached for me even when he could not stand. I did not know if he was alive or if he had survived the night, but I could still feel the bond, faint and far away like a whisper at the back of my mind, and I held onto it because it was the only thing I had. I spent the third day thinking about my mother, about the way she fought, about the way she got back up after being backhanded, about the way she looked at me when she said she w
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