There was never a place in the camp that seemed colder than the dungeon.

Not due to the stone.

Not due to the moisture.

Because people were allowed to rot with their regrets in this place.

It smelled of flames, blood, and secrets too old to be buried tonight.

Maya strolled silently beside me. Edwin was in charge of Elias, and he stressed that he should avoid both Michael and the dungeon. Elias had not objected. He continued to inquire about Michael's respiration.

I had informed ...