It is not relief. It is bait.
I drink only a small amount of water. Enough to moisten mouth and throat, not enough to signal need. My tongue wants more. My cells want more. I deny them.
Time passes. No second tray arrives. No chime. No voice. Just the steady light and the sound of five men breathing. The absence of the next ration is how I know the true test has begun.
Hunger returns with a vengeance because it has something to compare itself to now. The body remembers what it was like to not ache.
Honey begins to shift restlessly within an hour – maybe less. He glances at the centre where the tray used to be as if he expects it to return if he looks hard enough. His fingers keep opening and closing, a nervous habit. His gaze flicks to Hatchet, to Bones, to Ghost, seeking cues, reassurance, permission.
Hatchet paces within the limits of his restraint like a caged animal, chain clinking softly. Each movement burns calories. Each movement is a fight with himself. The tremor in his hands worsens.
Ghost sits again, but now he rocks slightly, forward and back, forward and back, as if motion is the only tether left. His mouthmoves silently. Sometimes his eyes sharpen, sometimes they cloud.
Bones doesn’t move much. He watches us all the way Nightshade would, if Nightshade were here. His gaze lingers on Hatchet’s tremor, on Honey’s pallor, on Ghost’s rocking. He swallows hard once, and I see pain flash across his face – injury flaring under stress.
He’s calculating, too.
I try to calculate. Hours since last intake. Fluid loss. Sweat. Respiratory water loss. Baseline needs. I estimate: if they deny water, impairment begins in twelve hours. Severe cognitive degradation in twenty-four to thirty-six depending on exertion, injury, temperature.
I keep my breathing slow to conserve moisture. I keep my body still to conserve energy. I keep my mind busy because if I let it drift, hunger will fill the silence with noise.
But the numbers start to blur.
Not dramatically. Subtly. I find myself recalculating the same estimate twice. I catch the error, correct it, but the correction takes longer than it should.
That is new. Cold never did this to me. Cold made my mind sharp. Hunger makes it…foggy.
I blink, slowly.
Across from me, Honey’s head droops. He catches himself, straightens, forces his eyes open. His lips move as if he’s whispering to himself. A mantra. A promise. I can’t hear the words.
Hatchet jerks against his restraints suddenly, a sharp movement that rattles metal. His breath hisses through his teeth. The tremor in his hands becomes a shake. He stares at his fingers like they’ve betrayed him.
Ghost’s rocking speeds up.
Bones shifts, grimacing, and I see his jaw clench. He raises his wrapped hand to his mouth, presses his lips to his knuckles as if to hold himself together.
The room remains unchanged.
The lights do not dim. The temperature does not shift. No voice offers instruction or mercy.
They’re waiting. For someone to crack. For someone to demand. For someone to hurt someone else to feel less powerless.
I try to anchor myself. I count my heartbeats. I count breaths. I count the minutes by the drift of my own thoughts, measuring time in effort.
It doesn’t work properly.
Time elongates. Or shortens. I can’t tell.
At some point – later – I decide we’re at the twelve-hour mark. Or thereabouts. My mouth is dry. My tongue feels thick. My lips crack when I lick them. I swallow and it hurts faintly, like sandpaper.
I glance at Bones. He meets my eyes. His pupils are slightly dilated. He looks pale. He lifts two fingers and taps them against his thigh: a gesture. A question.How long?
I answer without thinking, because my mind is clinging to structure like a rail. “Twelve,” I mouth silently, shaping the word.
Bones’ expression tightens. He taps again, slower:Are you sure?
My stomach drops. I run the calculation again, forcing the numbers into place. Woke time unknown. Transit time unknown. Meal time…I assumed it arrived three hours after convergence. I assumed that because my body felt like it had been in this room for that long when the tray appeared.
