The basement was dimly lit, the air thick with a damp, metallic chill.

Mason descended the staircase one calculated step at a time, and it was only when he reached the bottom that he could take in the squalid scene before him. A heavy iron chain was fastened around Maxwell Strickland’s neck, its cold links disappearing into the shadows. Unkempt and utterly filthy, his body was a patchwork of grime and wounds. Where his skin wasn’t caked in dirt, raw gashes oozed fresh ...