Batista POV
They gave Erich and me a separate tent, and Mara her own. Not that it mattered much to me where we slept — my mind was too heavy, too clouded with everything we'd lost, everything we were still about to lose.
After that, they brought us warm water to bathe and some food to eat. I remember how strange it felt, sitting there in that worn-out tent with the weight of Greg's death still clinging to our shoulders, while someone outside bustled around as if this were a festival instead of a prison.
Kai even sent someone with fresh clothes for us. Or, well — what passed for clothes. I swear, in all my life, I had never seen anything so ugly. It was this dull, faded brown tunic thing with thick stitches like ropes at the sides. It smelled like damp wood and old sweat. I stared at it for a while, half-expecting it to bite me.
