“I can’t fight,” he said softly. “You did before.” He closed his eyes and rested his head forward against the bars. “I’m so tired.” He didn’t mean the physical fatigue, though eight months eating leftovers had stolen much of the lean strength he’d cultivated while at war. He felt tired. Even when he got enough sleep. Even on those rare days when he wasn’t hungry, cold, or stiff from a beating. So tired … “You have been tired before.” “I’ve failed, spirit,” he replied, squeezing his eyes shut. “Must you torment me so?”
