Lyra's POV
The guards' fingers bit into my arms with deliberate cruelty. Each grip sent sharp pain shooting through my muscles, and I could feel their satisfaction in causing it. They pressed their thumbs into the tender spots where bruises would bloom darkest, holding just tight enough to follow orders while making their contempt crystal clear.
"Walk," one snarled against my ear.
I obeyed because fighting would only make things worse. My feet dragged across the cold stone as they hauled me through corridors I had never seen before. The silver shackles around my wrists felt like liquid fire against my skin. They didn't just restrain me—they seemed to drain something vital from my body, leaving me hollow and weak.
"Crazy omega bitch," the guard on my left muttered. "Nearly murdered the Alpha and still breathing."
"Should toss her to the rogues in the lower cells," his partner agreed. "See how long she lasts with them."
