what?”
“Maybe I did turn pride into a prison.”
Daniel didn’t respond immediately.
“Survival can look like pride from the outside,” he said. “Sometimes it’s simply the only form of control a person has left.”
I had no answer.
Northbridge lay on the edge of the city, beyond the newer buildings and brightly lit shopping streets. The roads narrowed. Old warehouses stood behind chain-link fences, their windows dark.
At the end of a long avenue, we saw a brick building with a faded green door.
The sign above it was
