"Nothing works."
The raw fear in the voice ripped Alyssane out of her fragile sleep. She slowly opened her heavy eyes. She had fallen asleep in the living room, too exhausted to walk earlier. Now, hushed voices, barely a whisper, drifted down the hallway.
It was an old man, his voice trembling so badly the words fractured. "H-he's always awake…"
Alyssane strained to hear more. "No potion works… E-every st-stitch… it's a gamble…" The voice hitched, fear morphing into a desperate plea. "I cannot do this anymore… I cannot numb the pain… what if he uses the same needle to end my life?"
A cold shudder snaked down her spine.
"He will…I know…" The old man's voice dropped to a terrified whisper. "Those eyes have m-murder in them…"
When the voices faded, there was an immense silence. Alyssane was frozen against the chair―every thought a sharp splinter in her weary mind.
'Is Kazmun not healing?'
