**Mitchell's Point of View**
The sting of Wren's words still lingered in my mind as I limped down the dimly lit streets, each step sending a wave of pain shooting through my body. Wren had made me feel like nothing—worse than nothing. His fists had left bruises on my skin, but his words, sharp and cruel, cut much deeper.
"You're worthless," he'd spat at me. "The only thing you're good for now is getting us closer to Arielle."
I'd thought I could handle his cruelty. I'd endured it before, after all, but today had been different. Today, Wren hadn't just belittled me—he'd hit me, over and over, until I could barely stand. And now, here I was, walking to Ryan's clinic, doing exactly what Wren had told me to do. He wanted me to get close to Ryan, to manipulate her into betraying Arielle, to use my battered body as a tool for sympathy. But as I neared the clinic, the idea of pretending to be weak felt hollow. I wasn't pretending. I *was* weak.
