CHAPTER 25

Cairn had let her rot in the box for a while.
It was quieter here, no endless, droning
roar of the river.
Nothing but that pressure, building and
building and building under her skin, in her
head. She could not outrun it, even in
oblivion.
But still the irons dug in, chafing against
her skin. Wetness pooled beneath her as time
wheeled by. As Maeve undoubtedly brought
that collar closer with each hour.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d
eaten.