LUCIAN’S POV
The first thing the dungeon took wasn’t strength.
It was time.
There were no windows, no shifting light to mark the hours, no subtle changes in temperature to hint at the passing of day into night.
Just stone, iron, and the choking tang of blood.
Even the air felt measured, as though it had been portioned out carefully to sustain life without ever allowing comfort.
I sat slumped against the cold wall, one knee drawn up, my head tipped back just enough that it rested against the rough surface behind me.
My body ached in ways that had long since blurred into something indistinct, pain no longer sharp but constant, like a second pulse beneath my skin.
Somewhere to my left, chains shifted.
Reece.
I could feel him there, the weight of his presence as familiar as my own breath.
A slow exhale slipped from me, my gaze unfocused as it settled on nothing.
There had been a moment—brief, fleeting—that we could have walked away.
I could still see it if I let myself.
