Elena's fingers made a wet, scraping sound against the bottom of the galvanized metal bucket. She was sobbing properly now… not the loud, dramatic kind of crying she did when she wanted Lydia to notice a minor inconvenience, but a thin, pathetic wheeze that caught in her throat and made her entire body shudder.
Her knuckles knocked against the submerged silver beads, splashing the gray, chemical-smelling fluid over her own wrists. The sharp scent of the cleaning solution burned her nostrils, mixing with the salt of her tears.
Nina stood perfectly still above her, arms crossed tightly over the front of her costumed chest. She didn't offer a towel from the stack on the adjacent table. She didn't even shift her weight. Her boots remained planted on the damp concrete floor, holding her ground like a stake driven deep into mud.
