Evaline:
I had braced myself for something ugly.
But nothing could have prepared me for the sight that greeted me when the dungeon door closed behind me with a hollow thud.
The cell was steeped in darkness, the kind that clung to the skin. Only a single candle burned on a small wooden table in the far corner, its weak flame flickering as if even it was tired of being here. Shadows crawled along the stone walls, stretching and bending, swallowing most of the room whole.
And in the middle of it all sat Marcus.
Chained to a chair.
My breath caught.
He looked… smaller. Not physically - he was still broad-shouldered, still built like a warrior - but something about him seemed shrunk inward. His posture was stiff, his head slightly bowed, his wrists bound behind the chair with thick restraints made of silver. His clothes were rumpled, stained, torn in places.
Thoroughly investigated, indeed.
The moment the door shut, he looked up.
Our gazes collided.
