Philip.
The cold, damp concrete of the holding cell floor bit sharply into my skin. My hands were bound behind my back with reinforced zip-ties, pulled so tight that my fingers were completely numb, the circulation cutting off into a dull, throbbing ache.
In the cell directly across the narrow hallway, the muffled sound of weeping echoed off the stone walls. It was a terrible, slurred, heartbroken sobbing—the sound of an Alpha who had completely given up on life.
"Alex," I called out, my voice raspy, keeping my tone as low as humanly possible. "Alex, lean against the wall. Can you move? Can you reach your cuffs?"
"Ella..." Alex slurred back, his voice thick with liquor, blood, and tears. He didn't even seem to realize where he was. He was just lying on his side in the dark, clutching his bruised ribs, muttering to the empty air. "She's gone, Philip... she's never coming back..."
