CASSIAN
The hours since the warehouse had been a long, slow inventory of damage.
I sat in the darkness of the room, my hands chained behind the heavy wooden chair, and let my body tell its story.
The ribs were the loudest... a deep, radiating ache where the vest had caught the bullet. It hadn't pierced the skin, but it had crushed the tissue beneath. Every breath was a sharp reminder of the cost.
My shoulder was a different kind of pain, a hot, pulling sensation where the graze had dried into a stiff crust against my skin.
Then there were the smaller things. The dull throb in my jaw. The ache in my knuckles. I had let those hits land during the fight because managing them was less important than managing the room.
I didn't move. I didn't wince. Pain is just data, a series of signals sent from the nerves to the brain to indicate a change in status.
