The air in the dining hall was heavy, thick with the scent of food—rich, indulgent, overwhelming. My stomach growled, a traitorous reminder of how long it had been since I'd eaten. I tried to ignore it, but the hunger gnawed at me, relentless and insidious.
James sat at the head of the table, his chair slightly reclined, his posture relaxed and unnervingly casual. His pale gray eyes followed me as I entered, a predator's gaze that felt like a physical touch. He didn't speak, didn't move, just watched me with that empty smile of his.
The guards were silent shadows. One of them untied my wrists. The rope fell away with a soft thud. The skin beneath was raw, throbbing. I rubbed at them instinctively, then stopped.
"Sit."
His voice was soft, almost conversational.
