>>Enya
I stumbled back a step, heart slamming against my ribs like it was trying to escape. My hand flew to the wall beside me, steadying myself against the slick, cold stone. I couldn't tear my eyes away from him. That look—feral, blistering, the kind of hatred that could set bone to ash.
"Shit," I hissed under my breath, my voice cracking. "Damn you, Father."
But then something shifted. Not in him—but in me.
He didn't move.
No—I looked again at his chains and how he was bound to the wall. He couldn't move. The chains allowed minimum movement.
The chains at his wrists had no slack, pulling his arms taut above his head. His ankles, too—iron cuffs biting into torn skin in one foot, fastened so tightly he could barely shift his weight. Every muscle in his body was trembling with strain. If he could have lunged at me, he would have. But he couldn't even reach.
