Mark lifted his head, forcing a look of weary exhaustion into his eyes. "Water... please, give me some water," he groaned.
The young guard hesitated, glancing down the empty corridor behind him. "I'm not supposed to. I was just assigned here. I heard you were dying, and I only wanted to check," the youth said, his voice trembling with nerves.
Mark swallowed hard, pointedly straining his dry throat. "Please." He let the word come out fragile and thin, a deliberate hook for the boy's empathy.
The guard took a single step closer and pulled a small bottle from his vest. As he reached through the bars, their fingers nearly brushed. Mark's skin felt as cold as a corpse.
"Thank you," Mark whispered.
"Drink slowly," the guard replied, snatching his hand back quickly.
Mark took a shallow sip, letting a few drops trickle down his chin before doubling over in a coughing fit. "You have a family," Mark wheezed between breaths.
The guard went still. "What business is that of yours?"
