An elderly man lay on the floor, breathing in slow, measured intervals. He blended so completely with the dirt and grime that, without Daylan's sharp night vision, it would've been hard to tell him apart from the floor itself.
Daylan knelt beside him. A quick glance told him the man's condition was dire—he was more dead than alive. His limbs looked completely shattered, and even in his sleep, his stomach rumbled loud and clear.
What crime did he commit to deserve this?—he let out a soft sigh.
Daylan shook the man by the shoulder and woke him up.
Daylan braced himself to silence him just in case he tried to make any noise, but he simply glanced in Daylan's direction, pressed himself against the floor with his skeletal hands trembling and sat down, his back leaning against the wall.
Oh, he's blind.
"What do you want?"
