When Tram's gaze collided with mine, I felt - rather than heard - his soul crumpling inside. His shoulders sagged, and his head drooped against one of the bars. I had to look away because I couldn't see him staring at the face of defeat, the face who had given it to him.
The Counselor circled us, staring us all down like lowly dogs, and stopped at the edge of the blood pit in the center of the three channels, his hands clasped in front of him. He surveyed the room, as if congratulating himself on its crazy twisted design, and announced, "You're a little late."