Savannah's POV
Hours have passed since Calvert dragged me into this hellish room. Whether it's been six hours or crossed into twelve, I cannot tell anymore.
The agony shooting through my shoulders makes it impossible to concentrate on anything else.
Heavy iron shackles bite into my wrists, suspending me from the ceiling in a position that forces my arms upward and keeps my back rigidly straight.
My knees throb against the unforgiving concrete floor. This is pure torture, yet the most unbearable part isn't the physical pain. It's Calvert's satisfied expression as he deliberately positioned his work station directly in front of me.
He sits there studying me like I'm nothing more than furniture while he sorts through paperwork. He rarely speaks or acknowledges my presence, save for the occasional disgusting glances he throws my way. The room remains mostly silent except for my labored breathing cutting through the sounds of his pen scratching and papers shuffling.
