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Chapter 71 - Seventy-One: The Rancid Meal
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Chapter 73 - Seventy-Three: Harbor’s Edge
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... ar didn’t pass in hours. It passed in the slow, agonizing rhythm of water dripping from the ceiling and the fading warmth of my own skin.
I was weaker now. The hunger had stolen my strength, the thirst had stolen my clarity. My head felt like it was stuffed with damp cotton, and every time I closed my eyes, I saw phantom images of modern New York—the neon lights of Times Square, the hum of a refrigerator, things that felt like fairy tales in this cold, bone-dry reality.
But I am ...
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