Beka Valentine didn't feel despair. She had been in tough spots before in her life but always before all her energies were devoted to getting out of them. She'd never had time to feel despair before because she was always too busy.
But right now, right in this place there was nothing to do so she had the time to think and feel. Beka looked around the cell she was being held in. It was cold and damp and it wasn't particularly clean either.
She was sitting on the floor with her back up against the wall, debating whether or not to bring her head down to rest on her pointed up knees. Beka finally decided that that would be too desperate of a posture to adopt. She may have felt it but she didn't have to show it. And she was determined not to show it. She had to keep the faith that she'd get out of here on her own. She would. She had to. She wouldn't spend the rest of her life here. She couldn't.