Comfort. Protection. Comfort.
Ian walked the dark halls. The screaming jabbed at his head.
Within a matter of moments he was there, standing across the room, far in the shadows away from view.
He watched Angel scream. She dug at her naked flesh. Pulled at her hair. Holding herself she whimpered and rocked until her screams quieted into a maddened mumble. The room of stainless steel imprisoned her with her her screams. Chains bound at her ankle secured her to the floor where blue moonlight spilled over her bare back. Ian could not make out her inane babble.
Comfort, Ian thought. Protection. Comfort.
He unsheathed his sword and, crouching, laid it on the floor.
The girl snapped her head up. Her black hair hung down her face like black rags. From her sunken face, large starved eyes studied the shadows.
“Get away,” she snarled. “Get away!”
Ian stayed, crouching in the shadows as Angel hissed and spat her sleuth of insults.
“Leave me alone!” she growled.
Ian tucked his legs beneath him.
Quietly he sat, and waited well into the evening and on as Angel lashed out at her company. And Ian patiently sat and waited.