SAMANTHA.
The resting room was small and cramped and it smelled like sweat and dirt and fear. Wooden benches lined the walls and they were rough and splintered against my skin. Water basins sat in the corners and the water was murky and cold. The only light came from a single torch that flickered weakly in its sconce.
I sat on one of the benches and I pressed my head into my hands and I tried to catch my breath. My body was screaming with pain and my muscles were burning and my ankle was swollen to twice its normal size. Every part of me ached and I was exhausted and I wanted nothing more than to close my eyes and sleep.
But I could not rest. Not yet. Not while Molly and the sisters were still out there.
I heard the door creak open.
