Her breath came in low, gasping sounds. The sound of it terrified her. Was something broken? Parts of her ached so badly. Sharp pain drove shards of ice into her skull. Her world was a red haze.
Kanan.
Kanan. Complicated, sweet, frustrating, brave Kanan Jarrus.
No.
No, she wasn't going to die here. She wasn't going to die here without telling him …
She frowned and opened her eyes. She stared at the ceiling of her cell.
Tell him what?
She splayed her hand on the slick cement floor beside the narrow pad that had become her bed and turned to her knees. She stopped there a moment, nausea roiling in her belly. She spat a gob of blood to the dirt and swiped the back of her hand across her nose. The sharp pain staggered her. It was broken. She palpated her cheekbone. At the searing pain, she did retch. Leaning her hands on her knees, she tried to catch her breath.
The door swishing open had her jerking her head upright. Two men swarmed into the cell. She tried to scoot backwards on her heels, but an iron hand grabbed her ankle. The arc of electricity from the slave collar clamped around her throat had her spine arching and she cried out.
"Someone wants to have another little chat with you." She was yanked to her feet. "Cheer up, schutta. Maybe this time he kills you."
Raucous laughter chilled her as they bodily hauled her out into the corridor.
Tell him that he was her best friend. She had to tell him that. She had to tell him that she knew he would come for her.
She closed her eyes as she was hauled into the tiled room with the surgeons chair.
Please come for me, Kanan.