I follow his lead, the ropes around my wrists now swollen with moisture. “I think you accidentally tied this too tight,” I say, looking left to right. Trying to trace the chirping sounds that keep scratching through the air—like somebody’s dragging sticks up and down many ribbed, hollow logs. “I assure you,” he says, kicking a fallen branch off the track like it personally offends him, “that was no accident.” “If my hands fall off, so will my iron cuffs, and then I’ll call upon Clode to suffocate you in your sleep.” “Such pretty promises,” he muses, his tone so dry it could wick all the
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