Captive Revelations

The atmosphere was heavy with the smell of blood and damp stone.

Lawrence stood with his arms folded, his eyes on the captive bound to the chair in front of him. The man—if he could be called that at all anymore—was battered, his face puffy from the last fight, his pristine robes in shreds and stained. And yet, despite all this, he sat upright, his eyes sharp, unyielding.

Jonah leaned against the back wall, arms folded, face expressionless. Camilla was to the left, ...