RILEY'S POV
The cell was carved from the mountain itself. Cold stone. Iron bars. The stench of blood and rot and something worse—despair.
He was chained to the far wall.
Wrists above his head. Ankles spread. Silver links biting into skin that had already turned black at the edges. His head hung forward, dark hair hiding his face. He wasn't moving.
For one horrible second, I thought he was already dead.
Then his chest rose. Barely. A shudder more than a breath.
I gripped the bars. My knuckles went white.
"You have been tormenting me," I whispered. "Please. Stop."
Nothing.
Not a twitch. Not a sound.
"Answer me." My voice cracked. "I'm—I'm here. I came. Answer me."
Slowly—so slowly it hurt to watch—he lifted his head.
I gasped.
His face.
Gods, his face.
