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His head pounds, refusing to allow him a moment’s peace. The muscles in his back and shoulders scream from hours of abuse. He tries to shift, stretch, but the wooden chair affords no comfort. How long? Giles tries to remember, each hour blurring into the next within his weary mind.
The voice drills into his sore head, unyielding. If only he was given a moment of silence to collect himself before the next onslaught. But the torment’s unending.
Giles stands. “I’ll be in my office.”
“What’s his deal?” Buffy asks.
“Don’t know,” Willow shrugs. “Tell me more about the boots.”