The concrete floor was cold against Blade’s palms, his arms straining with every push-up. He ignored the pain stabbing through his ribs with each dip of his torso. Pain had become a companion—familiar, predictable, even comforting in a twisted way. The bruises hadn’t fully healed from the last beating. His jaw still clicked when he chewed, and one eye swelled up every time he woke.

Thirty-eight.

Thirty-nine.

Forty.

The count kept him sane.

The walls of the cell were gray and ...