31: Abyss

Logan

I’m chained to a wall with iron clasped around my wrists, preventing me from moving more than a foot or two in any direction. The walls are damp and cold, moisture leaking in from above. The cellar smells like mold and rot; definitely not the place I was expecting to be in tonight.

Nicolas sits in front of me on a stool, elbows resting on his knees, arms casually draped over his thighs, as he stares at me with quiet curiosity. His hair is ...