They put the bracelet on my ankle first and pulled it tight, then unlocked the chain and cut the rope off my wrists.
The metal was cold and heavier than it looked. It closed against the bone with a soft, final click and sat there, tighter than it needed to be, the inner edge already finding the places where skin would remember it.
Blood returned to my fingers in a slow, tingling rush. The rope marks on my wrists stood out pale and raw.
I stood up and rolled my shoulders. The chain's absence left a strange lightness in the leg that the bracelet immediately cancelled. The small room felt different from standing height—cobwebs closer, Bagins' shadow shorter across the concrete.
Bagins stood in the middle of the room and watched me get up. His arms were folded again. The pistol was gone inside the jacket. The four men had already moved across to Trapper in the corner, the dark shapes of more bracelets in their hands.
"Can I be frank with you?" Bagins said.
"Mhm."
