“Did you scream for Riorson to save you when they locked you down here and broke your bones?” “I’m sorry?” Blood drains from my face. He did not just ask me that. Jack leans forward. “Did you cry for Riorson when they strapped you to the chair and watched your blood fill the cracks between the stones on its way to the drain? I only ask because I swear I can feel it when I lie on the floor—all your pain singing to me like a lullaby.”
