The dungeon reeked of damp stone and rusted iron.
Keiser let himself slide down against the wall, his back hitting the cold surface with a dull thud. His lungs burned with every breath, but he forced himself to keep still, to watch.
He could still see the way the knights at the gate had looked at them... cold, assessing, like hunters deciding whether the prey before them was worth the effort of gutting.
Their hands had been quick and merciless as they ripped the chains free, not caring if the iron bit into flesh.
Their captors didn't miss a thing.
Those sharp eyes scanned every one of them, lingering longest on Lenko, who never once stopped scowling even as Tyron restrained him.
He still stood taut, fists clenched, shoulders squared as though he might tear after the knights who had just abandoned them in the bowels of the dungeon. The air around him hummed with barely leashed fury.
