Malrik POV

At first, I thought Zebulon had snapped.

That laugh of his too loud, too long, ricocheting off the concrete walls dropped a shard of ice straight into my gut.

But then I caught it.

He wasn’t unraveling.

He was entertained.

And beneath that brittle amusement lay something darker: fury, frustration… maybe even desperation the kind that coils inside a man when he knows the game is nearly finished but still believes he has one last card to play.

He straightened fast, ...