Alfred placed a thick manila folder on the table, "This contains all of our intelligence on Gorgon Silas. Lord Moria expects results."
He turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Rebecca hopped off the bed and walked over to the chair where Luthra was sitting. She pointed at his left wrist, which was now wrapped in a crude splint he had made himself from a piece of wood and torn cloth.
"Hey, your arm is all fat and purple. What happened to it?"
He did not look up from the folder, "It's fine. It'll heal."
'Wait…' The image of his swollen wrist suddenly triggered a memory. It was fuzzy, like a bad dream, but the feeling was real. Her own hand, small but impossibly strong, wrapped around that same wrist. The sound of bone cracking. The feeling of pure, uncontrolled rage. 'I… I did that. That was me.'
She took a step back from him.
"I… I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice losing all its previous energy.
