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He huddled in the back of the dank, dark, putrid cell, hearing nothing but his own ragged breathing. Silence echoed in his ears.
He was the Thief of Eddis, a title to be proud of. No one but another Thief would understand. His mother-his grandfather-
His arm burned with a phantom pain, worse than anything he had ever felt. He was useless-worthless-
A traditional punishment, yes, and it was for a reason.
What could a Thief steal with only one hand?
Eugenides clutched the burnt, bleeding stump of what had once been his right hand to his chest, and wept.