JASON
My fingers are healing crooked.
The two on my left hand. The ones they broke in the second session, the ones that went at an angle bad enough that the man doing the breaking took a step back and studied his own work with something on his face that was almost regret. Almost. Regret requires believing you had a choice, and the men in this pack believe they had a choice about everything they did to me in that first week, so what crossed his face was closer to a craftsman noticing he had split the wood.
Those two fingers are knitting together wrong.
