Chapter 91: Despair is a weapon.

Hannah's arms ached. Sweat burned her eyes. The muscles in her back screamed for her to stop. But she wouldn't quit. She couldn't. It was dark enough now she could barely make out the glint of the crude blade.

"Are you sure that's going to work?" Christine asked from her perch on the bottom bunk.

"No clue." Hannah lifted the piece of a metal chair leg she'd broken off and examined the edge. She pressed her thumb against it.

This time there was a slight bite to the metal.

It was working.

She spat on the concrete serving as her whetting stone and put her weight into refining the edge.

"It's working," She whispered.

"What did you say?" Natalie leaned over the edge.

"She said it's working," Christine repeated.

"What are you doing?"

Hannah glanced up and across the space between their prisons at another woman. Her English was heavily accented, but Hannah could understand her.