Nathan's POV
Four hours later
My hands were raw, injured.
The cloth I'd started with was soaked through with oil and grime, my fingers cramping from the same repeated motion — wipe, inspect, place. Wipe, inspect, place. The metal was cold and heavy, and each weapon I lifted felt heavier than the former. My shoulders screamed. My knees buckled more than once.
I lost count somewhere after the sixtieth blade.
The room was silent except for the occasional clink of steel or the scrape of metal on wood as I racked another finished weapon. Garv hadn't spoken again. He'd disappeared after giving me the instructions, and somehow that made it worse. Being alone with nothing but my exhaustion and the thought that Derrick had ordered this made my throat burn.
