I didn't breathe. Couldn’t.

The woman standing in front of me looked nothing like the name that had been whispered in half-truths and shadows these past years. Freya Gilmore. Her hair was matted, falling in loose tangles over her shoulders, her wrists bound with steel cuffs, and yet her eyes — those sharp, calculating green eyes — held the kind of calm that made my skin crawl.

Lucas had brought me here. He hadn’t said a word since unlocking the heavy door to this dim, windowless ...