Ivy’s pov

My breath caught.

He was there.

Lucien.

Slumped against the wall of the last cell, chains wrapped around his wrists and ankles, his once proud frame reduced to something barely recognizable. His skin was bruised, smeared with dirt and dried blood. His head rested weakly against the stone.

“Lucien…” The word left me in a whisper, trembling.

He didn’t move.

For a heartbeat, fear clawed at my chest. What if I was too late? What if—

Then, slowly, his head lifted. His eyes ...