Kael's Perspective
The dungeon smelled of damp stone and iron. Every torch along the corridor flickered low, but Kael's stride cut through the gloom with the precision of a blade.
The guards scrambled to unlock the cell, but he waved them back. "No one enters. No one listens."
He pushed open the door himself.
Senna sat cross-legged on the cold floor, chains rattling lightly with her movements. She looked up the moment he stepped inside, her lips curving into a slow, knowing smile.
"My, my," she purred. "The mighty wolf finally pays a visit."
Kael's silence was heavier than any threat. His black gloves flexed once at his side.
Senna tilted her head, feigning innocence. "Is this about the little notes? They're only words, Kael. You're the one who made them into daggers."
His voice was low, stripped of all pretense:
"You dared to crawl into his head. You dared to make him doubt me."
