““Each step brought her closer to the body on the table. She didn’t know where to look first. At the fingers that went the wrong way, at the burns and careful, deep slices in his flesh, at the face, the face she still knew, even when so many things had been done to destroy it beyond recognition. The world swayed beneath her feet, but she kept upright as she finished the walk to the table and looked down at the naked, mutilated body she had— She had— Farran had taken his time. And though that face was in ruins, it betrayed none of the pain he must have felt, none of the despair. This was some dream, or she had gone to Hell after all, because she couldn’t exist in the world where this had been done to him, where she’d paced like an idiot all night while he suffered, while Farran tortured him, while he ripped out his eyes and— Celaena vomited on the floor. Footsteps, then Arobynn’s hands were on her shoulder, on her waist, pulling her away. He was dead. Sam was dead.””
