She lies at his feet. She hungers, she thirsts. She hasn't known human sounds in some time, hasn't remembered the taste of food.

She curls up in the white garb and prays.

Prays for him to come home.

why won't they burn me?

why won't they?

He doesn't know what to say.

The car moves. He doesn't tear his eyes away from her corpse.

She doesn't look physically imposing. She's only 5'5", almost underweight with her refusal to eat, and her arms are bound.

But when Davis grips her, he feels his hair stand on end. He can feel the walls swirl and his fears stir.

He leads her to her room, her head lolling, and he hates just the little contact he has. She stumbles and Jefferson just clenches his jaw and hoists her up on the other side. Her breathing picks up as they get closer to the room for her. Davis feels sweat pour down his face now, can feel his chest start to restrict.

Her feet come alive, kicking and flailing, but they hold her up higher, even when Davis starts to see things flicker and move. The door opens and they finally toss her in, Jefferson visibly grateful to let her go.

They don't talk about what happened, letting her scream in her cell.