I couldn’t tell how long I lay there, weak and delirious. All I could think was how much he must love this, seeing our natural roles restored. It was he with power over me this time, power to watch me suffer and sweat. And this time it was he with the remedy.

Dawn broke. The clock ticked. Warden just sat in his chair, stoking the fire. I had no idea what he was waiting for. If he wanted me to change my mind about the remedy, he was going to be there a long, long time. Maybe he had just been told to watch me, to make sure I didn’t top myself. I can’t say I wouldn’t have tried. The pain was excruciating. My leg was rigid, and it only moved in spasms. The swollen skin strained and glistened, like a blister on the edge of bursting.

As the hours crept past, Warden moved from place to place: the window, the armchair, the bathroom, the desk, back to the armchair. Like I wasn’t there. Once he left the room and came back with some warm bread, but I pushed it away. I wanted to make him think I was on hunger strike. I wanted my power back. I wanted to make him feel as small as I felt.

The pain in my thigh refused to ease; if anything it got worse. I pressed the blackened skin. I kept on pressing, harder and harder, until stars burst in my eyes. I had hoped it would make me lose consciousness, just so I could have a few hours of relief, but all it made me do was throw up yet again. Warden watched as I choked acidic bile into a basin. His gaze was empty. He was waiting for me to give in, to beg.

I looked at the basin through blurred eyes. I was starting to bring up blood, thick clots of it. My head rolled against the cushions.

I must have fallen unconscious. It was getting dark again when I woke. Julian must be wondering where I was, assuming he’d been able to leave his residence. Probably not. My brain could only focus on these things because all my pain, inexplicably, had gone.

So had the sensation in my leg.

Fear chilled my spine. I tried to move my toes, to rotate my ankle, but nothing happened.

Warden was at my side.

“I should mention,” he said, “that if the infection is not treated, you are very likely to lose your leg. Or your life.”

I would have spat at him, but the vomiting had dehydrated me. I shook my head. My vision was fading.

“Don’t be a fool.” He grasped my head, made me look at him. “You need your legs.”