The mans fingers traced my upper back, trailing over smooth skin that had been marred by gashes no more than hours ago.
His touch, feathery, still managed to pull me out of my stupor and wake me out of a dead sleep. I slowly blinked my eyes open, still dopey from the drugs that were wearing off. I hadn’t moved from my position; still lying flat on my stomach, my arms tucked beneath my head. I felt so comfortable that I probably wouldn’t have moved without the supervision of the man, anyway.
The man...it was hard to picture him with a name. Referring to him as Zacharias too often made me feel like I had enough respect for him to properly address him. I didn’t respect him—I feared him. They were two very different things. You can respect someone so significantly that you fear them, but you
