Harry sat alone in his cell once again, his head resting against the cold, stained mattress as he stared at the ceiling.
Nothing moved.
Nothing happened.
Just the distant hum of machinery somewhere beyond the concrete walls and the occasional metallic groan of the underground facility settling around him.
He hated this.
Not the cell.
Not even being locked up.
Being alone.
Because being alone meant there was nothing left to distract you from yourself.
His fingers slowly opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
Adrian.
The image came back immediately.
That stupid kid standing right there in front of him.
The gun had been in his hand.
The revenge he'd spent weeks imagining had been right in front of his face.
And somehow…
Somehow it had all gone wrong.
His jaw tightened.
The memory of being beaten.
Of losing.
Of lying helpless while Adrian got to walk away alive.
It made something ugly crawl through his chest.
A low growl escaped him before he could stop it.
