It felt as though my entire existence had been smashed apart and scattered into meaningless fragments, like glass shattered so finely that even the idea of putting it back together became laughable. I had no clue where they had taken us, no sense of direction, no awareness of what kind of cursed place we were trapped in, and worst of all, I had no way of knowing how the other demon children were faring—Matthew, Elijah, and the rest of them were nothing more than names echoing painfully inside my skull. The not knowing gnawed at me far more viciously than hunger or fear ever could.
Even though my body refused to respond, I still tried to force my throat to work, desperate to see if I could speak, or even let out a sound. But my mouth felt like a dried riverbed abandoned by life itself, my throat scraped raw as if it had been lined with sandpaper and dusted with ash. Even if I managed to push out a word, I knew—deep down—that no one would hear it, or worse, no one would care.
