The harsh fluorescent light seared into Xavier's eyes as he jolted awake, his body stiff from the thin cot beneath him. He squeezed his lids shut, then slowly pried them open, his vision adjusting to the sterile glow. The cell to his right held the werewolf girl, her golden eyes closed, her posture too still for sleep. She sat cross-legged, her fingers resting lightly on her knees—meditating, Xavier realized.
'How long had he been out?'
His stomach growled, a hollow ache clawing at his ribs. He hadn't eaten since his arrest. The prison's single meal had been gray slop, but he'd refused it. Now, hunger gnawed at him like a living thing.
'Why hasn't haven't I been interrogated?'
He had asked the other prisoners, and they said that the routine of interrogation was that they would be interrogated within three hours of being arrested. But for Xavier, it has nearly been a day. And Xavier still wasn't taken in for the statement.
