Breaking fingers, setting fingers, healing fingers. It almost became routine.
“Serve. Teach. Spy.”
“No,” snap. “No,” snap. “No,” snap.
Boring. Maddening. Setting them was worse. Healing them only made me feel bad that I'd have to go through the same process again. And again. Different torturers had different methods. I must have gone on for days, I suppose. I lost track of time. There was no sleep.