Kale slumped against the stone wall, silver chains wrapped tight around him like a serpent ready to crush. His arms were locked inside heavy iron shells, covering him from fingertips to elbows. Old wounds hadn't had time to heal, and fresh ones still bled slowly, painting the cell floor in puddles of red.
His back was a mess, lash marks torn wide, raw flesh exposed, each brush of his long hair catching painfully in the ripped skin. But he was still breathing.
And his eyes were open.
Two gold irises burned in the dark, staring ahead with icy hatred. Each breath was labored, rough, snarled like a beast counting down the seconds before it struck. Not a sliver of moonlight slipped through the vents high on the wall. That silence crushed him. He couldn't fight, couldn't even rebel. Without moonlight, his power had vanished. He felt weak, not truly broken, but nowhere near strong enough to tear through even a single human. Escape? Forget it.
