The iron door screeched shut behind him.
The echo lingered down the stone corridor like a scream with no throat. Chains bit into his wrists, heavy links that dragged at his shoulders and bruised bone. Aiden stumbled once on the uneven floor before the guards shoved him forward into the cell.
The door slammed again, bolts sliding into place with a cruel finality.
And then silence.
Only the drip of water from somewhere unseen. The stink of damp straw, mold, and old piss clung to the air like a second skin.
Aiden leaned back against the wall, sliding down until the weight of chains forced him to sit. His armor was cracked and bent, the once-proud steel now a ruin—just like his body beneath it. Blood crusted on his collar, ribs screaming each time he dared to breathe deep.
But his lips curved.
A slow, dangerous smile unfurled like fire across cold iron.
He lifted his eyes toward the memory of the Earl's smug face.
