Dropping to a knee at my side, he pushes something soft to my chest.
I pry my eyes open—
And find a pile of folded towels and a stack of fresh clothes that he’s handing me.
I don’t look up at him.
I don’t look at the face aimed at me, the features chiselled from ice that linger in my peripherals, those pale winter eyes that watch me with too much intensity.
A chesty sob gutters out of me.
I wrap my arms around the towels and clothes.
Samick doesn’t follow me to the shower post one over, the one with the dry floor. But I feel his gaze like an ice burn on the back of my head as, slowly, I dry off as best as I can with trembling hands, then I clammer into my fresh set of clothes.
Thermal leggings and a top, a fitted woollen sweater, and black cargo trousers that feel sort of durable, like they’re waterproof.
These weren’t in my bag.
I wonder how much time he takes to source me clothes and snacks and inhalers and new boots.
And then to force his fingers inside of me, and to use that same hand to rip out a spine…
A retch doubles me over.
I hold my middle like I can stop the nausea from burning inside of me—but then the floor is swiftly swiped out from under me.
Samick lifts me up, and deposits me on his shoulder again.
Without a word, he grabs the bags and the torch on the way out, then moves swiftly through the darkness, back to the cellblock.
He takes me straight to the bunk and I scramble onto it in a hurry, rushing to huddle in the corner.
Samick only looks at me, an unreadable stare that lasts a second before he mutters something to Arwyn, and though I don’t speak their language, I understand exactly what he’s telling him.
He’s telling him about the man.
Arwyn prickles with frost.
It’s different to Samick.
A frostiness climbs over Samick, starting with his hands. Like lace. Threads of ice.
But Arwyn’s handsprickle. The ice comes with little mountains on his skin, a smear of goosepimples.
He slips off the top bunk, his boots thudding down on the concrete floor.
He looks over at the darker shadows of the cell.
I trace his gaze to Shark.
Didn’t see him there, tucked in the corner, perched on a small desk, his boots resting on the spine of a metal chair.
He nods, and the pink of his eyes glitters.
My gaze is snatched away.
Samick is suddenly leaning into the bottom bunk, reaching for me huddled in the corner.
