The silver burned. Matheus held his arms stiff, slightly away from his body, trying to minimize contact with the chains. The ones around his ankles clanged as he walked. He had enough leeway to take almost a full stride, but not quite. Every few steps, he’d forget and stumble.
“Does it hurt much?” Fletcher asked. She pressed the button for the elevator.
The hallway echoed with the strange acoustics that came with lack of habitation. Matheus wondered if anyone else worked behind those closed doors, or if his father kept himself barricaded away in his private enclave. He noticed someone had refreshed the bouquets. The scent of lilies filled the hallway, even stronger than the day before. Probably had someone on staff, a dedicated flower-watcher, to roam up and down the hall, scouring for drooping petals.
“What do you think?” Matheus asked. All the hairs on his body stood on end. Itching, burning sensations circled his wrists and ankles, extending tentacles that wound and unwound every time he moved.