The next morning I lay on my side, my cheek pressed to the cool stone floor. The room was dark, but I could hear the shuffling of others walking back and forth through the hall and smell the scent of breakfast that I had not been called to.
My back still stung from the night before, throbbing with little sharp pangs from my shoulders down to my hips. My mouth was dry, and my cheeks tender from the tears I had shed from the punishment. I had been there all night, left in bloodied clothes, and left to wait.
The door creaked open behind me, and I held my breath. I was staring at the shadow on the opposing wall to make out the shape, bracing myself for another beating.
“Get up,” said a familiar voice behind me.
I finally glanced back to see Mordecai. He was not looking directly at me, but his voice was stern.