KIERAN’S POV
The Nightfang dungeon was not meant for comfort.
Stone walls sweated dampness, the air thick with mildew and the metallic tang of blood.
Every sound—the drip of water, the clank of chains, the scuff of boots on stone—echoed with an ominous life of its own.
The torches cast long, quivering shadows across the walls, turning the narrow passage into something that felt alive.
I’d walked this corridor a hundred times before, and tonight, Gavin’s words still rang in my ears: We’ve caught the mastermind. He’s in custody.
I wasn’t sure what I’d expected. A nameless rogue? Some faceless scavenger who’d finally overreached?
What I did not expect was the man who sat shackled in the interrogation chamber.
Jack Draven.
I froze at the threshold, disbelief momentarily rooting me to the ground.
“Impossible,” I muttered, my voice dropping to a growl.
But it was him. His shaggy hair was longer, streaked with grime, but those eyes—icy gray, sharp with mockery—were unmistakable.
