You miss home. Miss the sun against your skin, the sand under your feet. You knew that there was no use longing for what was taken from you.

You still have a fever. Kaveh sighs. He dabs your forehead with a damp cloth. Alhaitham's standing by the doorway. His face is stiff. You can never tell what he was thinking.

Living with your captors hasn't gotten any easier. Falling ill just seems to heighten their suffocation. Maybe, just maybe, if you pleaded enough, they'd grant you freedom.