The family members tried to stand, to gather themselves, to present some semblance of dignity—but their bodies betrayed them at every turn.
Leona grabbed the bedpost for support, only to slide down it like a ragdoll.
Luna tried to take a single step and collapsed against the wall, her breath coming in short, shaky gasps.
Lulu simply lay where she had fallen, staring at the ceiling, making soft, contented noises that might have been words but were mostly just sounds.
They were wrecked.
Thoroughly, completely, gloriously wrecked.
Luca, meanwhile, looked down at his wrists.
Three new tattoos had appeared, joining the others in a neat line along his skin. He examined each one with growing curiosity.
The first was unmistakable, a miniature torture device, the exact design of one of Nyx's more creative instruments.
He snorted. 'Of course. That one belonged to her without question.'
