Darkness was Ezra's reality. It encased him like a second skin, holding him down with its crushing weight. The wet stone walls of his cell reverberated with the muffled screams of other captives—lost memories from before, maybe, or creations of his own deteriorating mind. The air reeked of mildew, rot, and the acrid scent of dried blood. He had no concept of how long he was held. Time lost all meaning under Melucia's curse.

He had stopped screaming.

His wrists ached with the iron cuffs that ...