He tipped his caged head forward until the metal edge pressed into my stomach through my shirt. I couldn’t move—immobilised by fear and confusion—and Gloam didn’t move either. He was shaking wildly, like the effort of disobeying Mary even for a few seconds was taxing his body greatly, and I realised what this was. What he was doing. He was asking for forgiveness. Because of what he had to do.
