After Kia left, the dungeon fell into a heavy silence, thick as smoke after a battle. Freya sat on the cold ground, her back pressed against the stone wall. The chains on her wrists clinked faintly as she shifted. She could still hear the echo of Kia’s boots leaving — that arrogant, measured rhythm that made her blood burn. Her heart pounded, torn between fury and despair.

Eldrin turned to her, the dim light from the torch catching the faint scars across his cheek. “Don’t worry,” he ...