Caleb nodded. He had waited until Essek returned with the bandages and now, he slowly worked the fastenings open at the throat so that he could easily pull it off over his head.

There was still some residual signs of his time on the island, scrapes and mostly faded bruises that had been exacerbated over the last few weeks of stress and poor sleep. He wore the Amulet of Proof against Detection and Location, still smeared with residuum powder to enhance it, and also the medallion from the witch in Mammon's domain.

And now, across the expanse of his upper body--chest and arms--there were cuts and burns that riddled him with damage that would leave scars. Some of it was senseless, erratic. But there was also the deliberate carving of words into flesh as well, sluggishly bleeding. Words that reported on his history, the sins that had called him to this place.