Chapter 79: Guilty Conscience

Somewhere, a little girl was crying. It hurt to hear it, like the sound was accompanied by a million slices of glass poking and prodding his brain until he couldn't take the pain anymore.

Fresco tore himself free of it and sat up. His body groaned from the effort, complaining in every inch of him. The protest didn't last long, but it hurt enough it left him panting.

He was lost, disoriented. Where the hell? Fresco shivered in the dark, on some kind of bunk, a coarse and heavy blanket pooled in his lap. He hugged himself, feeling the last of the ache and tension leaving his muscles.

He was getting tired of waking up like this. In fact, he was damned tired of waking up at all.