The dull whine of the drill as it tore through her flesh. Jagged scraping of a scalpel against her gums. Bright, white pain and mocking taunts, implications of her 'real use', before blackness repeating nightly, leaving her waking in a cold, panic ridden sweat, looking up at the roof of the tent. "You're safe, Stephanie. No-one can hurt you anymore…" Leslie would coo softly, smoothing her hair back gently as she changed the bandages. Stephanie believed her. Until the cycle repeated every night, leaving her haunted by the folds of the tent roof. ’There's room in our line of work for hope, too.’template credit.