JANAYAH

The dining hall was so quiet I could hear the settling of dust motes in the sunbeams cutting through the high windows. Michael’s hand was still raised, suspended in the air, a frozen testament to his violence.

My cheek burned, a sharp, throbbing sting that radiated outwards, making my eye water. But the pain felt... distant. Irrelevant. Like it was happening to someone else, some small, broken creature I used to be.

I turned my head back to him slowly, deliberately. My eyes met his, and I didn't look away. I didn't drop my gaze to his chin, or his chest, or the floor, as I had been trained...