A series of ropes, chains, and buckles had taken their toll on his flesh, and they conspired with the scars and burns on his back to form a detailed map of agony. He looked across at the others, but they all seemed equally pained and exhausted. Teo was picking some dirt from his toenails, Ruma was scratching at one of the walls with a tiny shard of splintered wood, and Gladius was slumped in a corner, scratching his belly and moaning about Decimus and Olu betraying them all. “Oh shut up, will you?” Argon snapped, struggling to his feet and stomping over to the room’s heavily barred window. “I’m sick and tired of hearing about it. They’ve escaped, okay? Good for them. It’s not their fault Slavious Doom’s bloodhound has a sick sense of humor—I mean, how could they possibly know he’d do something like this? Besides, you’re always changing your mind about Decimus—one minute he’s your best friend and the next he’s stabbed us all in the back. Make up your mind, will you?”
