Nala POV - After seeing Lewis’ so-called cell, aka Inga’s house, Nala couldn’t help but think she not only drew the short straw, but her straw was so short it was little more than dust. Inga had cared for his wounds, given him free reign of her home and treated him more like a guest than a prisoner. Her cell, on the other hand, was just that. Three cement walls and one of thick steel bars keeping her within. Despite it being beneath the packhouse, none of the warmth or inviting decor made it down to the basement. It was cold and damp and dark, its only homey amenities, a toilet and a bed. If she wasn’t in so much pain, she might’ve cared, but instead she sat on the bed trying to ignore the throbbing heat of her wrists. The initial agony, of the silver melting her flesh, had passed, but that same heat was burying deep into her flesh, making her bones ache. She could no longer feel the places the silver touched her skin, but she daren’t look at it again. The charred, bloody mess o
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